Tsunami Storm
by EM LOGAN
Summary: Eric Jonas suffered in his youth, and suffered in his early adult life.  He has seen evil close up, and evil has seen him. Determined to fight this evil, Eric sets out on a mission to find and conquer evil through the threshold of time.


NAOMI PAIGE

652 BlueMountain Lake Est.

East Stroudsburg, PA 18301

570-420-1191

Words: 85,207

**WHERE EVIL LIES**

**BOOK ONE OF THE SERAPHS OF SOULS **

**PROLOGUE**

_**PRESENT DAY**_

**H**is mind had recessed to a dark place: the place where most of us dear not enter, because there is always a chance that we will never find our way out.

The red traffic light and the unyielding, red hand of the "Do not walk" sign had been completely inconspicuous to Eric under grey skies and mist. He hurriedly crossed the rushing street―eyes to asphalt, hands in pockets― of Brooklyn on the corner of Flatbush and Darcy, where people and motor vehicles herded together on their way out to pastor, just barely missing the tragic impact which may have ended his life, and his chance to redeem his restless soul. Eric stood frozen in time like a "_deer in a headlight_."

"You _fucking_ crazy _mon_?" yelled the Jamaican Rastafarian who had been racing his white dollar van (_only, one dollar is charged to travel from one destination to another_) in and out of traffic and straight for Eric.

Another showed Eric the bird (_The ubiquitous standing middle finger_) except that Eric had been solidly immune to all that was going on around him. He stumbled. Anxiety had begun to build even further; it enveloped his entire self. Eric felt as though he was about to _jump out of his skin_. He wanted to get away, to find refuge.

He made it to the other side of the street unscathed. And, as though someone had heard his deepest thoughts, his deepest fears, Eric found refuge on the door steps of a church. He entered the sanctuary, and had immediately felt as though he had left the demons which had invaded his soul, his mind, behind. He stood in the quiet by the solid wooden, scrolled doors with his head held low, trying to find his way back home. _ Peace was what he yearned for_.

And at that moment, he felt a beckoning to probe deeper into the well of his sanctuary.

Eric sat in the almost empty church, quietly weeping over his unsettling discovery, his miserable existence of a so called life, and his relationship with Shelby (his wife) and Jim Callahan or Cap as he is affectionately called.

He looked around the dimly lit room with dull white walls and painted glass―blue, red, yellow― set within them with a streak of white light descending from the east passing through, and the empty, dark, wooden pews lined up in rows to his left, to his right, and in front of him. The smell of burning candles, Myrrh, and incense filled the air.

He sat on that church pew quietly and alone. There were voices in his head: some from his childhood―some he knew, others, well, he had never seen before, at least, not in this world. He saw their faces, and heard their screams mixed in with the constant beeping of cars, and buses, and trucks as they whizzed by each other in the world beyond the church doors; he was, in a bemusement of misery.

Eric didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt like he had been on a very fast train that had lost its brakes, and there was no one to stop it.

"Why do some people suffer so much, and others not at all? Does God love some of us more than others? And, do we suffer at his hands or at the hands of the Devil? Eric thought, trying to piece together some semblance of an explanation as to why he had had to endure such pain throughout his life. _Why?_

Was it to serve some higher cause? _Perhaps, his suffering would elevate him to a point where he would become impermeable to more suffering, and as a result, gain the ability to transcend evil and its many inflictions on the human soul._

Eric looked up at the man on the cross who had the palms of his hands pinned with rusting nails. He looked at the crown on his head made of thorns. He saw the tears which flowed, but were not there. And, he heard the cries of a people so long ago, asking―no, begging―for mercy. Eric had been transported to a moment in time to witness the suffering of Christ. And then, he understood, _sort of_, that even Christ suffered, and he was the son of God. And, perhaps, his suffering will mean something to the world. _But_ w_hat?_

Then, he heard these words spoken by the only other person whom had been sitting just a few benches away from him:

"_**Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.'" **__**PSALM 141:23, 24**_

The voice echoed through the empty church. However, Eric did not know if those words were meant for his ears or for the speaker's.

The old-man turned around and repeated:

_**Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.**_

And it was clear: God had heard his thoughts. _But_ w_hat now_?__

**~1~**

**1200 B.C.-THE BEGINNING AND THE END**

**A**nd so it began in the ancient city of _Nok_, sub-Saharan Africa, where the land was lush and fruitful, with mountainous peaks that touched the skies, and rivers which flowed purely and wild under the blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbows dancing to the rhythm of calm blue seas through, and birds of many feathers singing gloriously and uninhibited: The Earth was at its genesis, with oceans of lush green and rivers that flowed wildly and purely from mountains that peeked through billowing pillows of white-blue clouds and the brilliant glow of golden spears guided from the heavens, making its mark precisely.

People and animals roomed freely, each knowing their place and purpose on this vast land―the hunter and the prey. But then, the game changed.

The blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbows had no longer danced to the rhythm of calm seas. The birds had lost their way: They flew aimlessly into the mountain sides and dived into the torrid seas. The oceans of lush green stirred wildly: The scent of fear had been impermeable. Fear of losing all which had been good and pure to an evil which had risen out of the ashes of humanity, and the imminent battle for the souls of men.

This battle waged on fromtheend of one age and the beginning of another: Copper had given way to iron. And iron had given way to some of the most powerful, more refined weapons of its time, made only to shred and rip at flesh, like the _Jagawak_, a short, spear-like dagger with jagged edges. Spears, twice the length of any man, were fitted with arrowheads, clawed and venomous. There were swords detailed with the markings of the owner's tribe, sharpened finely, and capable of splitting a man into two with only one strike.

But, more importantly, these were weapons made only for evil―the hunter―to strengthen it, as it waged war against the souls of mankind. These weapons lay at the feet of the good and the pure―the prey―who were then forced to pick them up and use them to fight evil throughout the ages.

With the ongoing war, and the land now stained with blood from the dead and the dying, Seraph and his most trusted general and daughter Ashana (the warrior angel) made plans within the walls of the Temple of Shiloh―a stone fortress perched upon Mount Shiloh, the highest mountain in the land, just beneath the clouds―for the battle against Bane and his army of demons. It will be the battle that could decide the fate of the human soul for all time.

Beneath the earth in the black caves of Hades, Cain, son of Bane, said breathlessly, with his face smeared in blood and sweat, "Father, we have lost the fifth battalion. Seraph had surrounded us: We were greatly out-numbered. I fear that all is lost father."

"Do not fear my Son. All is not lost, for you still take breath," Bane said, as he gently placed one hand on Cain's cheek. "We will find retribution, not in this world, but in the next. The seed of their seed and all who follow will be punished for their insolence for all time to come."

"How Father? How will they pay?"

"You are the key my Son."

"Me father?"

"Yes my child. I am ancient and fragile. It is you who must seek retribution for our kind. It is you who must bring Seraph and his people to their knees."

"But Father, I am not as powerful as you. Nor, am I worthy of your trust, for I have failed you Father. How will I seek retribution beyond my years?"

"My Son, you are more powerful than you have been made to know. On the night of the red moon, we will ride out together, and then you will know your might. You will part the way."

"Seraph!" Ashana rushed into the private quarters as Seraph stood with bended knees on the cold stone floors with his head towards the heaven. "Word has reached my ear that Bane plans to send his son forth to the future so that he may plant the seeds of evil in the heart of humankind. If he is successful, then all will be lost.

While we fight here for the souls of mankind to remain pure and good, he will fight through the ages for evil to flourish and spread like vermin, and then, together, they will claim the Earth and all the souls upon it."

Seraph's silence could not be broken, even as the soul of mankind lay at the brink of destruction, not until he had been satisfied with his thoughts and prayers.

"Do not worry child. He must be stopped. We will find a way to banish Bane and his saplings into the depths of hell for they are the root of all that is evil. They must not be allowed to flourish and wipe clean the divinity of this world and the worlds to come, because for us, time has not a beginning nor an end: it is but a hiccup, a pause for which we must take to cleanse this affliction from the souls of men.

They will become the hunted," said Seraph, as he lifted himself from his knees to face Ashana. "Ready your army, for on the dawn of the brightest sun, when it is closest to the earth, we will ride."

"Yes Father."

On the first night of the red moon―comes, only, every seventy-five years―when the moon holds its greatest power, with the _Jagawak_ in hand, Cain rode out with Bane at his side and their army of Kenites closely behind.

"My Son, tonight you will feel your power. You will raise the _Jagawak_ towards the moon and the power of it will transport you to the distant future. Our retribution starts this day. You will spread evil upon the land across time.

You will bring famine, disease, great storms, hate, and all that we hold great to the seed of Seraph and his righteous followers, until he kneels before me and beg for mercy. Only then, will I cease to inflict pain upon him and his kind. They will know my power. They will feel my wrath through you and all who will take our path."

"Father, I will not fail you."

Cain raised the _Jagawak_ towards the red moon, and a great surge, like quick silver lightening, entered him. He cried out with a vast pain, "Father, I will not fail you!" even as he glowed brilliantly against the black skies, and then, he was no more.

**TWO**

**THE YEAR 1340**

**T**he skies were black over the southern lands of Europe, not a flicker of light from the distant stars. But, there was the red moon. The populous saw it as an omen of things to come, some great evil that was set upon the land. And with it, the wind howled wildly. Coils of dust and veiled wind could be seen descending from the sky, as the people struggled to keep their stand.

The sound of a horse's hoofs could be heard riding out of the wind towards them, but yet, they saw no horse. The sound of great pain echoed through. But yet, they saw no man, and they saw no woman.

The people were silent in the night, frozen in time, unclenched and fearful. Even the dead would not have made themselves known.

The people were confounded: and rightly so. Yet, as the days progressed, and the red moon was no more, the memory of that night faded away: partly, because of fear of the unknown and fear itself. They had convinced themselves that what they had heard was, only a trick of the mind, an affliction by the red moon. They had no answers.

However, the priest, the monks, the religious kind had seen it as a sign from God: a warning of things to come:

"…_And I beheld when he opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake, and the sun became black as a sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood….And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind…" Revelations 6:12-13._

Within a few days of Cain's arrival, the festival of the Twelfth Night to celebrate the Three Wise Men and the birth of Jesus was to take place in medieval villages all over Europe. And so it did.

However, that celebration was the beginning of Cain's vengeance upon the land. With the _Jagawak_ in hand, he inflicted an event so devastatingly deadly, spreading it through out small villages, across borders, from royalty to the lowliest peasants. The Black Death had no boundaries, taking with it seventy-five million souls.

On the night of the next red moon Cain, once again, pointed his _Jagawak_ towards the sky. And, again, he inflicted disease upon the land. 1817 was the time of Cholera, taking with it millions of souls, and continue through the ages. 1918 was the year of the Spanish Flu: With in a span of one year, one-hundred million good souls were lost.

**THREE**

**I**t had always been too late when they arrived. When Seraph and his Warriors of Light arrived during the year 1341, one year after Cain had already inflicted most of Europe with the Black Death; at least one third of the population had already perished.

"I have failed them," said Seraph, with Ashana at his side. "I have failed to save these poor souls from the hands of Cain," he said, as they rode through the narrow streets massed with the bodies of the innocent; the orphaned children crying over the decaying flesh of their parents, brothers, sisters; vermin and wild dogs feeding on the dead, and the stench of death that lingered on.

Some, who still clenched to life, pulled at the robes of Seraph and his army. "Mercy," they cried. "Mercy." But, there was nothing that he could have done to ease their pain. His powers were limited. And his only charge was, to stop Cain from destroying humanity.

Seraph brought his army to the foot of the Alps.

"My mind is fogged. I must seek guidance," he said to Ashana, as he dismounted his horse and headed towards the edge of a cliff.

There, he stood for many hours, as his army waited patiently behind in the distance. And when he returned, enlightenment could be seen in his eyes.

"I have been given a gift," he said to his daughter, as he mounted his horse.

"What kind of gift Father?"Ashana asked.

Her horse had begun to show some impatience, "Allyon, steady yourself," she ordered the wild steed.

"I have been given the gift of sight and of dreams. "

"Please explain further Father."

"I will choose many champions, my daughter. Through their dreams, I will show them the truth of what is to come. They will become The Seraphs of Souls, earthly angels with the gift to see evil for what it is, hunt it down and destroy it."

**PART ONE**

**A WARNING AND A DREAM**

**FOUR**

**THE DREAM**

**MARCH 15-2011**

_The blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbow no longer dance to the rhythm of calm seas. The birds have lost their way: they fly aimlessly into the mountain sides and dive into the torrid sea. _

_Above, behind the varied grays and black of the swiftly moving clouds, lamenting a great loss, the light of the dying moon, now stained in blood, and the once bright stars can be seen trying to find a way through. But that is not to be. _

_The wind whispers softly, in the deep of night, disturbing the fine grains of dust and ash on the surface of a once flourishing Earth, now parched and cracked with remnants of chard plants, of animals, and of human flesh. _

_Only a few good souls have survived: they walk the Earth, lost and bemused in the thick of once was and is no more, trying to find their way home, trying to find their love ones―mothers, daughters, and sons. Their blood burns wildly as it rushes to the reality of the mere existence of life, even as evil celebrates its rise to power and a coveted victory. The light has been turned to darkness everlasting―so it may, or may not be. _

_A nefarious storm of fire, wind, water, and quake summoned by humanities voracious appetites for earthly euphoria, weakened minds, hearts and souls, filled with pride, envy, lust, wrath, and greed has consumed the Earth. _

_**The Earth is fit for the harvest.**_

_Eric heard the sound of many horses quietly approaching. He thought for sure that it is the end of the line this time; that Cain has finally caught up to him. Panic has set in. What will he do? How will he save Shelby and Flora?_

_The horses increased their stride from a slow dance to a trot, and then a rushed gallop; the foot soldiers increased there march to a fast pace as they made their way towards an enemy that threatened to seize all power, and claim the souls of humanity. To what end? To the end of an endless death, where evil would be everlasting._

_It is pitch black, blacker than any hell that can ever be imagined. He can barely see the destruction which lay before him. He has only the sound of his own breath, the hard beating of his heart, and a niche in a cave―silky with bat guano―which he stumble upon by mere chance to comfort him from the sounds of horses doing the slow dance to impending victory or impending death, and the choreographed beating of wooden shields, and the uniformed march of two-hundred thousand foot soldiers. _

_With in just a few increments of time, the thundering hoofs of more than two hundred thousand horses, mounted with the Warriors of Light―the last hope for mankind― dressed in armor of gold, echoes as they swiftly, through a cloud of dust, with desperate urgency, gallop across the Earth. _

_And at their helm stands Seraph―hair of glimmering silver, skin brilliantly bronzed. He is dressed plainly in a white sheeted robe. And in his right hand, he holds the Horn of Justice, which, by the mere sound of it, could drive his enemies to madness. _

_At his right flank is his most trusted general, Ashana, whose hair is long and woolen, streaked with white and silver. Her skin flickers in the dark as she glides across the land with the Sword of Retribution_ _held firmly in her right hand: it lights the way and spears the truth in the soul of man. _

"_Come, let us ride through the night till we meet our enemy again," she shouts. "Let us move swiftly and unyielding through them until they are no more!"_

"_Yes, let us ride! Let us claim what is ours and restore the Earth to goodness!" says Seraph._

_Bane, with long, grayish white hair and meandering, deep, cavernous lines running through his face lead his nefarious army, the Kenites, swiftly into battle, with the confidence of assured victory. _

"_Victory will be ours. I can smell its sweet aroma! I can taste its spoils! Let us annihilate them into the void of darkness! Come, let us ride unyieldingly and fierce!" he shouts to the Kenites as they sprint across the Earth, relishing in all the destruction and darkness that they have put upon the land._

_And so, from every corner of the Earth, they ride: the Warriors of Light from the north and the south, and the Kenites from the east and the west, until they meet again, crushing, slashing fearlessly,_ _each fighting desperately to annihilate the other, where the victor will claim the Earth and all the souls, and start a new._

**FIVE**

_**MARCH 15, 2011**_

**M**idnight. It had been almost four years since Eric Jonas had had another dream of Seraph, Ashana, Bane, and the epic battle for the souls of the Earth.

Half-way between dream and reality, Eric woke, to find him-self in what should have just been a dream, except it wasn't: His dream was his reality.

His eyes were wide and glaring: They were glazed over in a sea of confusion in the night, the moon stained in blood, and night ravens―numerous in numbers―screaming through the sky, not in a unified formation as birds often do, but rather, misguided and flying in every direction.

His heart hastened as the sound of thundering hoofs drew closer. The smells of smoldering dust strangled his every breath. And even as he struggled to breathe, with outstretched arms, he felt around wildly for his love Shelby who lay peacefully dreaming about Phillips hands. She felt them caress her body, freely and uninhibited. Her breath hastened as he eagerly searched her mouth with his tongue. Just the mere image of him sent wanting sensations throughout her body, making her beg for more until she sees his eyes red and glaring, filled with evil and discontent, and, his touch felt cold and barren of love or any form of goodness.

"Eric, honey, what's wrong?" she asked as she woke with a firm grip, almost plunging into the flesh on her shoulder.

"Shel! Shel!"

Fully awake now and with her hand on his to ease his hold,

"Baby, it's ok! You must have been dreaming!"

"It's happening Shel! They showed me! They showed me again!

It's real!"

Now with fear in her eyes, the quickening of her heart, and the

fleeting of her breath, "what's happening?" She asked.

"It's time! They have arrived!"

"Who! Who have arrived! Eric, you're scaring me!"

"Come Shelby! We must go! Now!"

"Eric, what is going on!" asked Shelby. "Flora!"

But as she hurried out of the warm comfort, the place of now a restful soul that once, many years passed, had wrestled and toiled with ill content, the quick silver moon stained with blood, the blood of mans' evil souls speared her like the sharpened edge of the blue stone―arrowhead.

"We must meet them by sunrise!"

"Meet who and where!" asked Shelby as she struggled to clothe

her trembling body.

Sparks of the unknown spiraled through her like the stinging bite of electricity, unpleasant and threatening, intensifying fear for the safety of her daughter Flora, now four, who was in the other room.

"Hurry! We must meet them! We must drive towards the rising

sun!"

**PART TWO**

**2010-**** ONE YEAR BEFORE**

**SIX **

**R**eports (in print and on cable news stations) of violence of epic proportions (gang wars over drugs and turf), murders and rape, bank fraud resulting in thousands losing their homes, their livelihoods, their sense of security. Starving children. The heartless rich. The epicenter of it all: greed, envy, pride, lust, wrath, human conditions that have plagued the earth and its inhabitants, since Bane had sent his evil seed through the gateway of time to root itself deeply and bare fruit in the souls of mankind, growing wildly from then to now.

_How?_

Through images that have appeared in the minds of the weak of spirit and of mind. They appeal to the wronged, and to those who have suffered great loss and pain at the hands of another, and to those whom had readily invited them. These images set off a trigger for the need to kill, to rape, to cause misery, to do all things evil, and with it, a deep satisfaction, a climax of victory over their victims, until the next time evil _hungers_ and _thirst_.

But there are some, the Warrior Angels, or the Seraphs of Souls, who have suffered through time, who, have themselves, fallen victim to evil, and have carried out such vile acts as they have seen, or, better yet, have been instructed to do, whom have seen the light of the truth: They have welcomed God and Good in their hearts, therefore, making them impermeable to the hands of Bane and his evil seed. But, if they falter, as humans often do, they will once more succumb to the hands of evil, and therefore become a child of Bane, unless they confess their ways and seek forgiveness from God.

**MARCH 15, 2010**

The Brooklyn courtroom―quiet, airy, large, dark, wooden walls, high class enough to rival any "Good Old Boy" smoke filled room that beckoned back to a time when deals were struck to the sound of clinking glasses and bogus laughter―was in its own right, intimidating and impressive.

But Eric was not in the least intimidated. He placed his right hand in his pant pocket and touched the small pamphlet penned with the words of Jesus―his heart felt right―while he glazed through his closing argument for the three month Louisa Westgate murder trial, flawlessly, making eye contact with the highly impressionable group of jurors who listened intently―some with the twitching of noses, the scratching of an itch, the shifting around on the hard, wooden, chairs, all the funny things that people do naturally when unaware―and the infamous murderess Louisa Westgate who murdered her wealthy lover Adelais Francois and his vainglorious wife Cécile Francois for nothing more than a glass of wine and a sliver of cheese.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury: Ms. Westgate, at first glance, seemingly harmless, timid, intelligent, classy, unless you are a man of wealth, means, and have had the unfortunate luck of being chosen by her, caught up in her webbed maze for her own selfish, greedy, lustful benefit.

Adelais Francois was such a man. And his wife Cécile Francois (a brief silence) well, she was somehow caught in the middle. Both met their untimely deaths by the hands of Louisa Westgate. You have heard all the witnesses, the unfortunate men who crossed paths with Ms. Westgate. You have seen all the evidence (the pistol, the video tape which placed her at the crime scene shortly before the shootings were heard, the fingerprints and motive.) It is clear, without a doubt, that Ms. Westgate committed these murders. And you must find her guilty. Thank You."

Outside the courtroom cars and buses could be seen on the crowded streets in the perpetual dance of speeding by, then stopping at the butt of another, then speeding, then stopping―infinitely.

Messenger bikers with packs on their backs rushed and dodged between the mass of vehicles to get to their assigned destinations. The street venders busied themselves with the highly desired dirty water hot dogs, pretzels, candied nuts and whatever else could be served from a push-cart.

But strewed about in a corner over there and over there and over there and on the wide sprawling marbled steps of the courthouse with cops, lawyers, judges, suits stepping briskly up or down were the drunks, the insane, the addicts, or just simply, the hopeless and the homeless.

Men, women (the young and the old) glided. No. Rushed unemotionally, with blank faces, stepping over an outstretched hand or leg, bumping shoulders to claim their successes, their livelihood, even if it meant shattering another's dreams―only a few could see the suffering of others. Only a few would reach out.

In the alleyways behind the courthouse and surrounding buildings, prostitutes (men, women) could be found peddling themselves for a loaf of bread, a 40ounce, a dime bag, some for a gallon of milk for the child left at home (_if it could be called that_) locked away in a closet, scared and lonely.

All, obliviously living, creating their own worlds in their minds, knowing that happiness would never find them, accepting their hand and playing it out, until, they are forced to fold.

Back inside the courtroom, Eric who knew too well what it was to suffer so deeply that you lose yourself and all hope for life glided meticulously across the galley, as he parsed his words carefully with the hope of swaying the jurors to a conclusion that would bring Ms. Westgate to justice, a justice that she so categorically earned and deserved for her part.

**SEVEN**

_**(WHO WAS ADELAIS)**_

**A**frica,the second largest continent in the world, is a source of wealth for many, and a source of indigence for most who live there. And where the Indian Ocean meets Cape Town towards the northern stars and the mountains of Kimberly―the heart―lay some of Earth's most precious stones.

A ration of rice. Three pounds of flour. A twelve pack of bottled soda-pop. That's all they'd received week by week for the back-breaking digging and tunneling through the mines with sweat dripping from their brows and muscles that burned like fire in search for diamonds and precious stones.

That's all they would have to feed their wives and their crying children, who waited patiently at home with fat bellies, not from the abundance of food, but rather, from what happens when the body is starving: They waited patiently in Earth packed homes, a luxury. Most lived in zinc huts with dirt floors.

They had no stoves with burners for cooking. Instead, women burned coal to heat their pots. There were no warm showers in which to bathe. Instead, they had cold water, brown and fibrous, of which people and animals shared alike.

The streets, or dirt alley-ways, were filled with corruption― mostly, men trying to take what they could not earn.

Adelais Francois― owner of the most renowned mining company, the source of several jewelry manufacturing companies in France, United Kingdom, USA, and Switzerland―had a heart, which could not be outmatched by the hardest diamond. It did not glisten, nor did it sparkle; it was not beautiful, nor did it bring joy to the suffering and the indigent. Instead, it was cold, un-empathetic, dispassionate, and sought only self gratification.

He had no cares about the lives of the African souls in his employment. Whether, he had provided enough to support a family was, in itself inconsequential, only that he had provided something was enough to justify his actions. It was enough to calm his restive conscience.

His way was, truly, the way of the Kenites which had graduated from being an order of an evil cult which paid reverence to Bane, to a conglomerate of wealthy business people―bankers, big oil, manufacturing mammoths― who were stretched from one end of the globe to the next. Their mission: to seek riches and power at the heels of the less fortunate. Together, they held the fate of the world in the palm of their hands. And at its helm stood Cain who used his conglomerate at his will.

Adelais demanded his way with African beauties. As far as he had concerned himself, they were fair game for perhaps an extra ration of food or payment―diminutive― in Rands (The South African currency), while his wife Cécile, at home in Paris, lived her own wildly, self-gratifying life with perfectly smoothed pebbles of pearls and precious stones set in cradles of the finest gold or silver surrounded by the sparkling, lucid blood of Africa strung around her perfectly chiseled neck, and her small wrist and her long subtle fingers, with their perfectly painted nails.

At her beck and call was the driver Samuel, who struggled to feed his own family; the house maid Madeline, who sent every dime she made back home to Haiti to feed her four children and her mother; the gardener Louis, who used almost every dime he made to pay for his son's college tuition so that he could one day have a better life. Not once did Cécile Francois consider the lives of those in her employment. To her they were invisible, and exist only to serve and tend to her every need.

_No! To gain success and wealth is not in itself selfish in anyway. Bu, to gain wealth and success by the plundering of the common man is, in itself, an atrocity._

Louisa Westgate, the diamond of Brooklyn, at least she enjoyed thinking of herself as one that sparkled so, that no man could ever turn away from her.

She used this self-full-filling gift as a tool to woo men of her choosing; men of means, it was her only criteria. Young, old, short, tall, it didn't matter, so as long as they could provide for her the life of luxury which she had come to expect.

Perhaps it was, because in her own life, as a child, she had been born to parents whose survival depended on the monthly checks from the government. While most of her friends wore designer jeans and fancy sneakers, she wore jeans without labels and sneakers that could easily be found in any corner bodega in Brooklyn.

Somewhere along the lines, not sure where exactly, but somewhere her need for the finer things had become obsessively insatiable.

Perhaps it was when she met a young man who called himself Cain. He enticed her into a way of life that she could only have dreamt of otherwise. Suddenly, it wasn't a matter of how she would be able to acquire the designer jeans, or shoes, whatever it was she wanted, but rather, when and how many.

She fell in love with Cain. And together, everything was perfect for the first year, until she learned of how Cain had been able to provide for her.

She learned about who he really was, or what he really was. He was the son of Bane; the son of evil himself (That was his claim. And he was proud of it).

However, at the age of twenty, she did not wish to go back to a life of emptiness. Instead, she wanted wealth, which she thought would bring her happiness. _But at what price? At the price of her soul._ And so, she closed her eyes to the evil truth and gave herself completely to Cain and to the beginning of his order, The Kenites.

Louisa stayed by Cain's side as the years went by. She became his earth (a wife-though not in the legal sense). He had several others. But he had another life. Outside of his order he was known as Phillip to his legal wife Joy and Bob Salinger to the many who visited his community center on Court Street.

Louisa, also, had another life. One that included coasting from man to man. She stayed only until her fascination had run out, never taking the time to think about their feelings towards her. They were just a pawn in her wicked game of greed.

**EIGHT**

_**(LOUISA AND ADELAIS)**_

**T**he new jewelry store was scheduled to be opened with in a few weeks―on the fourth of July. Adelais, being as meticulous as he was, had made plans to meet his staff at the Brooklyn store two weeks before to ensure that they knew exactly what he expected and exactly how he wanted his prized jewelry to be displayed (It all had to be perfect).

He had tried to coax Cécile into joining him on the trip. But she had been contented to stay in Paris with her servants and glistening diamonds. She did not have the desire for business. For her, it was better to leave that part to Adelais.

It was opening day, July twenty-fourth, for "FRANCOIS THE JEWELRY BOUTIGUE." The day was warm, but not humid. Ten A.M., Frank, the store manager, quickly pushed up the iron security gates to reveal a grouping of diamonds, pearls, rubies, and sapphires which rested snuggly in their own individual compartments on the glimmering golden revolving platter that seemed to be suspended in air inside the display window.

Montague Street, the heart of Brooklyn Heights, where the East River takes the eye to the monolithic beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge and the glory of the lady, holding her mighty torch, almost touching the sky and to the blue and white horizons of the Manhattan skyline, and in the shadow of the Promenade, where joggers jog and bikers bike and skaters skate to the rhythm of summer, and among them sitting on a park bench nestled between beds of impatiens, begonias, and marigolds was Louisa Westgate sipping on an iced mochaccino, contemplating her next move, her next victim. She had no idea that she would meet her match. Nor did she expect to fall in fatal love.

Inflicted with idle boredom Louisa tossed her half empty plastic cup into the trash can close by and began her approach back to her townhouse on the Promenade.

It was like a magnet to metal. Her eyes immediately became illuminated by the glimmering diamonds and precious stones on the revolving platter. They spoke to her, luring her to come in. She could not refuse. From that point on Louisa, though she had no idea, had lost all control, not just to the lust for shiny things, but she had lost all control to _Adelais_ Francois, a man whom she had not met.

**NINE**

_**(Back in the courtroom)**_

**M**s. Westgate, is there anything you would like to say in your defense? asked the judge.

"Well, yes Your Honor. As a matter of fact, I would."

"The day was," Louisa began to say before she and everyone in the courtroom had been wildly interrupted by a man whom had somehow rushed pass the guard standing by the door. He appeared old, with long, graying hair that reached the lowers of his back, and his beard, gray and wiry, which had smothered his brown wrinkled face.

He wore a long black trench coat that had many holes―frayed, with strings of thread hanging from them. His shoes, or lack of, were torn and weathered. And his eyes, well they seemed as though they would burst at any given moment: Well, they were white and crazed―the eyes of a mad man.

"Beware! The time is near! Beware!" he said, and then disappeared as fast as he had entered.

Outside the courtroom the plumes of white clouds had turned to black suddenly, not the black of a threatening thunder storm, not the black of an overcast day. No. The clouds were the black of midnight without the stars, without the moon, and in the middle of the day.

After everyone had swallowed the big knot in their throats and had gathered up their stomachs off the floor, the judge signaled for Louisa to continue.

"As I began to say" repeated Louisa with a blank, emotionless stare. Almost as if she was somewhere else. "The day was beautiful, but uneventful, until I walked into that jewelry store. It was as though I had been sucked into something, or some situation that I had no control of. I was completely mesmerized, not only by the glimmering jewels, but by Adelais, the way he strolled over to me flawlessly and confident" (_she said with a slight smile). _

"That ruby would look splendid on your perfectly manicured finger," he said in English that sounded more like French, as he comfortably placed an elbow on the glass display and leaned in to eye the white gold ring with the most brilliant ruby surrounded by small intricate diamonds. By then, my eyes were fixed on his brilliantly blue-green eyes that carried me away to the calm seas of the Caribbean and the magnificent beauty of the corals which lay beneath it"

"Let's see. Frank, vous me donne cet anneau? (Will you give me that ring) Forgive me. What is your name?"

"Louisa. Louisa Westgate."

"Yes. Please, let... Oh, is that Mrs. or Miss.?"

"Miss."

The satisfaction could be seen in Adelais eyes. He removed the magnificent specimen from its red velvet bedding, gently took Louisa's ring finger, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

It was then she knew it was over. There was no need for words. It was understood that it would be the beginning of an illustrious affair, lustful and stirring, at least until she felt satisfied that she had extracted all that she could from him and her boredom had reached its peak.

However, she hadn't planned on one thing. After all it was not in her nature. She was more like a black widow: take what she desired from her mate and then get rid of him and move on. She was who she was. However, she had not planned on falling in love―really in love with Adelais Francois.

"Il semble belle sur votre doigt Mme Westgate (It seems beautiful on your finger Ms. Westgate)." Adelais said with a licentious grin of satisfaction as he held Louisa's delicate hand in his.

Infatuation stole her mind. French words stole her heart, though she did not comprehend them. To her they were seductive and proverbial.

"It's beautiful," Louisa said as she stretched out her finger to admire the ring. "How much is it?"

"For you. (Brief silence) The price of going to dinner with me tonight," answered Adelais with a smug smile.

"Dinner, hah," Louisa responded, as she gazed at the beauty on her finger.

"Sir, we've only just met."

"Oh, how rude of me! I should introduce myself!"

Adelais gently took Louisa's ringed hand and kissed it as he introduced himself. He had no idea what he had done to Louisa at that pivotal moment. That sensual kiss riveted Louisa, sending warm trembling sensations of sipping red wine by a blistering fire on a cold day in December as lingering fingers of a lovers hand traverses the most sensitive areas of a woman's body throughout her delicate form. She was sure that Adelais would be her next victim.

But, in fact, she had been the next victim. Adelais and Louisa had a stirring affair for six months. She melted in his arms with every touch. She had lost herself, her mind.

She thought about him almost every second of the day: how he would bring her to unending heights while he ravished her feverishly, wildly; how his kiss would send fire to every part of her; and the magnificent pieces of jewelry, which would be placed around her neck, her wrist, her finger:

_I thought that I had finally found the one man that I could probably love for a long time. Adelais was perfect in everyway imaginable. I loved him. But I was a fool._

_It was only that morning that we had spent time together in bed, in each other's arms. I believed we were making plans for the future, though, now that I think about it, I was making plans for a future that would never come to fruition._

_Mid-day, I had decided to go to the promenade to shop for a few things for my date with Adelais later that evening: I wanted to look special for him. _

_As I strolled by the French Corner Restaurant, I noticed Adelais with a woman whom he had seem very familiar with. I watched, as he fed her chocolate covered strawberries, cheese, wine, and then, after, he gave her a slow wanting kiss, the kind that we had always shared: I believed they were just for me. But, apparently, I was wrong: He shared them with others._ _How could I have been such a fool? She asked, as she placed a hand over her brows, rubbing them as if they could provide the answer._

_I guess I should not have been so surprised. It was foolish of me to have thought that I was the only one capable of such deception. I was angry. How dear he, I thought. I wanted to rip his eyes out and through them in the sea._

_That evening he called and said that he needed to cancel our date because of some unexpected business. I knew what kind of unexpected business he had. I went his apartment. Though_ _I had my pistol in my purse, as I often did, I had no intension of using it. I rang his door bell and the woman which I had seen earlier opened the door._

_I felt as though my heart had been shredded to pieces. I lost all control. Without thinking, I reached for the pistol in my purse and released the trigger. The bullet pierced the woman in her heart._

_Just then Adelais ran out of the bedroom, only to find his wife dying, gasping desperately for air._

"_What have you done?" he asked with fear in his eyes._

"_You bastard," I yelled as I shot him._

_I did it. I killed them both, and I'm glad for it: she said, while laughing and crying all at once._

It was 1:00 P.M… Screaming could be heard coming from outside the courtroom as Louisa continued her testimony. Loud thundering thumps, exponentially, as though the sky was falling, could be heard from above the room.

The sky was black. Ravens (dead and dying) fell from the sky. The streets were littered with birds and frightened souls.

The news outlets were flooded with reports of dead birds falling from the skies―not just in Brooklyn― all around the world. There were reports of dead fish washing up on the banks of the Hudson River, the Long Island Shores, the east the west, the north and the south, in every country. Was the world coming to an end?

Religious fanatics were quick to point to "Revelations" in the bible:

…And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, go your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth….Revelations 16.

Others pointed to Zephaniah:

…I will consume man and beast; I will consume the fowls of the heaven, and the fishes of the sea, and the stumbling blocks with the wicked…In the same day also will I punish all those that leap on the threshold, which fill their masters' houses with violence and deceit.

Some argued the relevancy of either reference. In Revelations the reference was to End Times and Eric's visions of it while on the island of Patmos. The referenced of God's words to Zephaniah of judgment on Judah and other countries, even over the threshold if they, if we, do not seek God and obey him.

Many blamed these perplexing events on environmental deterioration. The thinning of the ozone layer. The pollutants in the air and the sea. The shifting of the poles and the Earth's magnetic field.

But, others knew the truth. Eric suspected that this was at the hands of Cain, with his _Jagawak_. He suspected, because it had been shown to him in dreams a few years back.

**TEN**

**T**heemergency room atNew York CityHospital had been flooded with victims of the falling birds and sheer hysteria. Shelby worried about Flora and Eric. But, she tried to empty her mind and rise to a level of professionalism that was expected of an emergency room nurse as they wheeled in several patients, crying, gasping desperately for air and a logical explanation, most with serious head wounds.

"Nurse, are you with us?" asked a doctor as he rushed to receive the patients. His face was wrinkled and tensed.

"Sorry Doctor! "Shelby answered. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not get her mind off Eric and Flora. And worse, she could not get a minute to call Eric on his cellular phone, or call the pre-school to check on Flora.

"Let's get this patient to the OR (Operating room) as soon as possible," the doctor ordered.

"I was jogging! Where did they come from? What's happening?" asked a man, looked like he was at least in his thirties. His eyes were wide with fright as the blood gushed out of his forehead.

"Mommy, Mommy!" cried a boy for his mother as blood streaked down his cheeks. His mother lay unconscious on a stretcher.

"Code Blue, Code Blue," yelled another Emergency Room Nurse, as they rushed a man whom had been having a heart attack to an area where they tried desperately to resuscitate him, but failed.

There were many others who were just as confused and feared for their lives and the lives of their loved ones. All around, cries could be heard. And all around, the questions could be heard. And the question that was in everyone's minds.

About two hours later, just when they thought that they had seen the worst of it, clatters of tennis size hail had fallen from the bellowing, black skies and lightning strikes could be seen in every direction.

The judge ordered Ms. Westgate's testimony to be discontinued for the day based on the events that had taken place.

Eric, worried about the safety of Shelby and Flora, tried to leave the courthouse with the intention of driving to the city to get his daughter. However, it was not safe. The streets were filled with chaos and tribulation and dead birds and balls of hail.

He made an effort to contact Shelby on her cellular phone, but got only her message, "Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I will get back ASAP. Have a blessed day."

"Shel, it's me! Please call me and let me know that you are ok! Flora is fine! I called the school and Mrs. Burnett said that the kids were inside when this started! I'm stuck inside the courthouse, but as soon as I'm able to, I will drive to the city and get Flora, then, we'll come to the hospital to see you! Call me Shel. ASAP!"

"God, is it time? Are you coming?" asked Eric to himself quietly as he looked up to the abysmal mass and slipped his phone back into his pant pocket.

He was tired of the threat of Cain, constantly pursuing him in his mind, willing him to go back to the man whom he was before―a heartless wreck. But, it was to Cain's own detriment, because Eric had God and Good on his side.

By now many frightened people had crowded the atrium of the courthouse and any other building where they could find cover: law enforcement officers, judges, clerks, refugees from the streets, people who fled their running cars (some leaving open doors) their food carts, bicycles, the homeless, with the exception of one man, the old man who had so rudely interrupted Ms. Westgate during her testimony.

"The end is near! It is upon us! Embrace it!" he said loudly with his hands reaching, reaching for heaven. "Do not be afraid! Do not run from it! God is coming to claim his righteous flock!" he said repeatedly, even as hail fell, and lightning blazed against the dark, and the sound of thunder bellowed from deep above the clouds without so much as touching him, or causing him harm.

However, God had nothing to do with the dead birds that fell from the sky.

Nestled in a corner between a wall of glass, Eric removed a small bible from his briefcase which he carried with him always. He turned to scripture for comfort and understanding.

Just then he felt the insistent vibration of his cellular.

"Shel! I've been so―"

"Eric, I'm so happy that―"

"Flora is ok!"

"what is going on Eric?"

"Shel, I wish I knew―I mean―"

"Do you think―no"

"Shel all we can do is pray, and continue to be faithful. Don't worry. God will protect us. As soon as things clear a bit I will go get the baby and meet you at the hospital. Don't leave without us."

"Ok Eric. I love you."

"I love you too Babe."

After almost one hour the sky began to clear to a soft, powdery blue. The falling hail had ceased. The thunder and lightning was no more.

People had begun to trickle back on to the streets, cautiously looking above and around them, including Eric. The reality of what had happened pierced through his heart like a burning arrow.

It was assumed that everyone had been able to find shelter. However, that assumption was not met. There was a woman, with a young child, who lay quivering and bleeding as she covered her daughter with her own body, a homeless man who lay still in a corner, still holding his beaten cardboard blanket over his head. Several people walked about, some bleeding from their heads and other places, most walked aimlessly, wondering what had happened to them.

The sirens of ambulances and police cruisers filled the air. This scene was replicated in every city. In every country. On every continent. People of all colors, races, creed, sexual orientation, it didn't matter; they all had been touched by these perplexing events. And, they all had been left wondering aimlessly, if even in their minds, trying to find an answer that would fit their reasoning.

Several blocks over Eric rushed to get to his car, stopping on the way to help whomever he could to get their bearings. But, his help had been brief, since his thoughts were set on getting to Flora and Shelby.

In his mind, he could hear Flora's tiny laughter, and he could see the sparkle in her eyes. All he wanted to do was to hold his little girl in his arms and squeeze his wife tenderly.

They were in such a good place now, and have been for several years. Before Flora came along, so much time had been wasted, so much precious time gone to hatred, and resentment and evil. Eric and Shelby had spent years rebuilding their marriage with each other and with God.

Eric ran feverishly, age could not slow him, nor could the heavy briefcase which he carried, stuffed with mountains of papers, all of which documented the murders of Adelais Francois and Cécile François and the murderess, Louisa Westgate, certainly, not with all the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He came to a full stop when he noticed the old man praying on his knees in the middle of the Brooklyn Street.

It was the same man who came bursting into the courtroom during Ms. Westgate's testimony. However, there was something more familiar about him. Curious now, Eric edged closer to the man.

Cars with broken glass and dented bodies were strewn about. Ambulances whizzed through the streets, trying to get aid to the injured. People walked around crazed with eyes wide and glaring. But there, in the middle of all the chaos was the old man, unafraid, and praying in the middle of the street.

Being careful not to meet his death on such an all ready tragic day, Eric approached the old man.

"Hey, this really is not a good place to be old man." However, the old man ignored him and continued mumbling softly with his hands pressed tightly together under his chin, his head faced up towards to the sky, and his knees sitting on wet asphalt.

Cars whizzed by, beeping horns and angry voices echoed in the street. Feeling vulnerable, and nervous, and anxious to get to his family," Old man we will both be killed if you don't get up! Now," Eric said firmly, giving it one more try.

"Must you yell? I'm not deaf," said the old man, now looking at Eric squarely in the eyes.

Eric offered his hand, without permission, and grabbed the man under his arm. An ambulance could be seen and heard screaming towards them.

With just a few minutes to spare, Eric and the old man made it to the sidewalk. Feeling as if the breath had been sucked out of him, Eric bent over, dropped the weight of his briefcase and placed his hands on his knees to retrieve himself.

"Are you crazy?" Eric asked the man standing next to him smiling as if nothing had happened. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that if you didn't come to get me soon, I was going to get flattened like a pancake," the old man said.

"What?" Eric looked at the man precariously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I knew you would come. They told me."

"You're crazy." Standing firmly now. "I don't have time for this. I've got to go get my family," Eric said as he grabbed his case and began to walk away.

"They come to me in dreams! I told you before what they said," the old man spoke strongly to Eric as he struggled to keep up with him.

"Listen old man―"

"Stop calling me old man!"

Eric fanned his hand at the nuisance behind him, rejecting every word that came out of his mouth.

"Eric, just listen for a minute!"

"How do you know my name?" Eric asked, slowing his pace now.

"I gave you their message back in the church years ago! And I gave your Shelby a message also!"

"Wait just a minute!" Eric said as he came to an abrupt stop. "How do you know my wife Shelby?"

Taking a deep breath, "I told you they come to me in dreams."

"You keep talking about they! Who are they?"

"Seraph, the Warrior Angel, all of them! I know that they have come to you as well!"

As much as he tried to resist the memory, it came back to him like the wild, white water break in a rushing river. It brought him back to the dark days which he spent in the church crying, wondering what he could do to change, and thinking about Tommy laying dead in that house.

It all came back to him, the torment, the madness, the misery he caused Shelby, the murders, the evil he encountered, almost on a daily bases as a cop . The memories of his past transgressions flashed through his mind like the swift strike of a deadly sword, taking him back to a place where he did not want to be, a place of evil, where he was a part of it.

He remembered the words of a mad man, "_Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." PSALM 141: 23,24  
><em>

Those words, those spoken words, served as the catalyst for change in Eric's life. He saw the truth on that day. He saw his wicked ways and he wanted to change. He knew he had to change.

Now Eric knew what was familiar about this old man whom had been dressed like a homeless person, a wanderer.

"It was you, wasn't it? That day in the church," Eric said as his eyes began to moisten.

"How―"

Just as Eric was about to bombard the crazy looking old man with questions, his cellular phone rang.

"Eric, where are you? Mrs. Burnett called. She wants all parents to pick up their children as soon as possible!"

"Shel, Hon, I'm on my way! I'll try to get their as soon as possible! Hopefully the bridge won't be too chaotic!"

"Look old man―"

Eric began to say as he placed his phone in his pocket, but then he was interrupted.

"Samuel. Call me Samuel."

"Samuel. There are a lot of questions that I have." Eric thought for a moment. "Would you mind taking a ride with me? Fearing that he may never see him again. I must go now to get my daughter!"

"Sure, if you don't mind a smelly, raggedy, old man sitting in your car."

"No, I don't mind. After a day like today, I can handle just about anything, even smelly, raggedy, old men," Eric said with a slight grin and constricted nostrils.

**ELEVEN**

**T**he destruction of human emotions had far out weighed the many mangled cars intertwined with each other and the glut of birds that lay dead in the streets as Eric tried to navigate his way over the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Such pain, destruction, all with in a few minutes, bringing us all to our knees, and all of it, at the hands of man," Samuel commented as he observed the chaos. "If only we could see our ways."

He waited for a response from Eric, however, none came. His focus was intent on getting through the horrid streets to his wife and child.

"So, what do you think is going to happen?" Eric had finally asked Samuel.

"Well, I don't know. But, I think we need a great miracle to stop this."

"Do we even know what this is? What it means?" Eric asked.

"I think that God has had enough. Evil has become so strong that it is becoming prolific, strangling the goodness out of mankind, and, it seems to be in a constant competition with God, like it is testing God's power.

There is not a day that goes by that you don't hear news of murder, and rape, and torture, kidnappings of children. I could go on forever, the list is long. How much longer can we go on like this?"

"Well, from the look of things, not long: not long before it all ends.

An eerie silence filled the vehicle, as they drove by people who looked as though their lives had ended, and all hope was lost.

Two hours later, a trip that should have taken no longer than thirty minutes, they arrived at the hospital where Shelby had been waiting with Flora who had been safely tucked away in the Children's Center.

Eric sloppily parked the car in the only space he could find, a "Reserved for Hospital Personnel Only" spot, and ran breathlessly towards the electronic glass doors―Samuel followed behind.

After he entered the hospital, he couldn't help noticing the vast amounts of people, some sitting, some standing, with bloody gashes on their faces, their heads.

"I'm looking for Shelby Jonas," he said to the flustered reception nurse sitting nervously behind the glass windows. "Have you seen her?"

"Sir, if you are not hurt, please, have a seat and someone will see you shortly."

"No. You don't understand. I need to see my wife."

"Sir, I will ask you again. Please―"

Before the nurse could finish her sentence, Shelby rushed out of the double emergency room doors to retrieve another patient from the waiting room.

Rushing to embrace his wife, "Shelby! Thank God you are all right. I tried calling you again to let you know that I was almost here, but you didn't pick up."

"Eric, I'm so glad that you're here. I was so worried."

"Flora. Where is Flora?"

"She is in the Children's Center playing with the other kids."

"Sir, please have a seat. Someone will come to get you shortly," Shelby said to the old-man standing closely behind, looking and listening to their private conversation.

Eric had almost forgotten about Samuel. He turned around, "Oh, Honey, this is Samuel. He's with me."

"Who?" Shelby asked as she eyed Samuel curiously. He did to her, look like an escapee from the mental ward.

"I'll explain later. Why don't you get the baby and I'll meet you out front."

"Oh, Honey, I'm sorry. But, I can't leave right now. The hospital is short handed and they need every nurse and doctor available."

"So, when can you leave?"

"Hon, I have no idea. But I think you should take Flora and go home."

Looking around the waiting room, "I guess we don't have a choice," Eric said.

"Wait here. I'll go get Flora."

Ten minutes later Shelby walked through the double doors with Flora in her arms.

"Daddy, Daddy!"

"Hi beautiful!" said Eric as he took his daughter into his arms.

"Daddy, why the birds fall from heaven? God didn't want them no more?"Flora asked with an innocent curiosity.

"I don't know Baby. Maybe they did something wrong."

"Why Daddy? Why?"

"Only God has the answer for that Baby Girl."

Shelby kissed her daughter, "I'll see you at home later sweetheart. Be a good girl now."  
>"Ok Mommy."<p>

Shelby kissed Eric, "Be careful Honey. I love you," she said and watched them leave. It made her uneasy, however, that there was a strange man following behind them: a man she knew nothing about. "Nurse―"

**TWELVE**

_**(MEMORIES)**_

**T**he drive back to Brooklyn was as tortuous as it was driving to Manhattan. There were however, a few light hearted moments with Flora nestled safely in her car seat in the back seat of the car.

"Daddy, is that Santa?" Flora asked, referring to the gray, bearded man sitting in the front passenger seat.

"No, sweetheart, this is Samuel."

Just then Samuel looked around and gave Flora a smile.

"Is he going home with us?"

Eric hesitated. It had just occurred to him that he was taking home a stranger whom he did not know much about, a stranger to his home where his wife a child lived.

Eric gave a quick look at Samuel, trying to surmise who he was and where he came from.

"I know you must have lots of questions," Samuel offered,

sensing Eric's distrust.

" Yes, in fact, I do."

"It all seems so strange to me that―"

"What seems strange Daddy?" Flora asked with one finger carefully searching the inside of her nostril.

Surprised, Eric looked at Flora through the rearview mirror,

"Daddy is having adult talk Sweetie."

"Maybe we should talk about this later," Eric suggested.

The uneasy feeling had not left him, but he knew that he needed answers. And, he had a feeling, call it extra sensory perception, that Samuel may be able to shed some light on this chaos.

He thought that maybe he could help him understand the memories that still haunt him at night and how they connect to what was happening now. And the dreams, what they meant, and why they came to him.

**THIRTEEN**

**T**he day had been long and arduous.Erichad already fed, bathed, and put Flora to bed for the night. He kept a close eye on her, still having an uneasy feeling about the stranger in his home.

Nevertheless, he offered Samuel a shower, clean clothes, and a meal, (a can of chicken soup and a piece of day old French bread) which he accepted eagerly.

It was late in the night, eleven P.M… Shelby had already called to say that she would be working a double shift, as well as to check on her family, knowing that there was a stranger in their home.

Eric, however, still needed answers. The two men sat at the small dining table just off the kitchen with a pot of coffee.

"Thank you by the way for the clean clothes," Samuel said as Eric began to fill his cup. "Sorry for scaring your wife."

"How do you know she was scared?"

"Well I could see it in her eyes. Besides, I get a lot of that, and I can tell when someone is scared."

"Well, can you blame them? After all, they see and hear you shouting in the streets. Of course people would think that you're crazy. That's what I thought and maybe still do."

"I may be a bit eccentric, but I'm not crazy."

Samuel was charged with spreading the words which would set a new path for humanity, and weaken Cain's hold on the human soul.

He was one, out of many from every corner of the Earth, called the prophets whose only existence was to teach and guide the lost, and provide them with a path to goodness:

You see Eric, like you, I began to have these dreams, the same ones over and over again. They became visions, slides of people suffering, people dying at the hands of evil. Words from the scriptures slid through my mind like a rolling caption.

They showed me the seeds of evil which have been planted so deeply into the minds of humankind, that they have become a prolific, parasitic weed, spreading its roots throughout our being, twisting, strangling, wrapping themselves around our thoughts, our hearts, destroying every fabric of reasoning, every fabric of goodness, of which, only the strong of mind, and of will can survive.

Most of us, when we are young and naive, see the world only as a big playground, where we seek adventure, and wonderment. We see a world filled with opportunities for success, and other possibilities.

But, what we never see are the dark, hidden caverns, which holds evil within us. We never see it until it strikes us at our weakest moments, where we say things, or do things, or think about things, that we would never have otherwise with a rational mind, and a pure heart.

We may begin with one or two vile incidents, which then, turn in to many. And before we are able to catch ourselves, it is already too late.

Evil has become who we are, or worse, we have become what evil wants us to be; it takes over our entire self. It separates us from the ones we love; it drives us to murder, rape, cause pain, and suffering; it becomes an uncontrollable and unstoppable force for many of us―the world is ripe with evil_._

After a year or so, the dreams had taken over my life.

They dictated what I said, what I did. I was pastor of the Every Man's Church on Flatbush Avenue. One morning I showed up for work to prepare for the evening service, and what I saw was evil on my church door.

Written in blood were the words, "The harvest is at hand." I lost myself. The words in my mind took over, and I had to get them out.

"You were that Samuel? Pastor Samuel Cook?"asked Eric with both relief and bemusement written on his face.

"Yes."

"I was the detective in charge for that case. We searched for you, and had just assumed that you were among the dead."

"Well, as you can see, I am very much alive. And, I searched for you as well, because I had to. Your face, you came to me in a dream, and I knew I had to find you. And once I did, I have never left you."

Eric was confused. _Why_ _did Samuel need to find him?_

Well, that morning I found myself a wanderer on the streets of New York, yelling, repeating over and over the words from my mind. I had to give the message: That's what they are, messages.

And so, here I am, and have been for the last six years, a messenger in the streets of New York, giving warnings of things to come, and guidance for us to follow.

So, no, I don't think I'm crazy. What I am is terrified. Terrified because, what I see is more pain and suffering, and more evil, and it's growing even as we speak. And I don't think that we can stop it. I don't think that we can stop the destruction.

There was a somber silence, because they knew that they had reasons to be terrified.

Eric had experienced more terror over the years than any man should ever experience in one life time: first as a child, then as a New York Detective, and now.

Eric sat silent for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. Will it ever end: Will this evil ever end? He reflected on how he came to know evil and how evil came to know him.

He reflected on all the murders and abuse, the chronicle of events from his past which, he believed shaped his then future, and the many cases, happening simultaneously, one after the other, of which he had been involved with in his life as a detective with Unit 21, all the horrors of which he had been privy to, and all the pain which he had caused his wife to endure.

He recalled Cain's missing body from the morgue. _Can a dead man just get up and walk out of a morgue, bloody and naked? And why is it that when evil enters his mind Cain is there?_

_Will it ever end?_

**PART THREE**

**FIVE YEARS EARLIER-TIME OF MISERY**

**Fourteen**

**I**t is almost impossible for some to find peace: He was one of those people. Even as a child, Eric lived a life filled with turmoil and pain. His childhood ended when his dad died from a heart attack; he had literally smoked himself to death along with the daily dose of booze― scotch was his poison. Actually, Eric's childhood may have ended sooner.

The daily turmoil and difficult drama had been a normal way of life for Eric and his family, but it became worse after his dad died.

Eric had been hustling since he was fourteen, always with one eye in front, and the other behind his head. He trusted no one, and no one trusted him: It was just that simple.

His mother went insane after his dad passed. Why? It is not known. However, one can only speculate that she felt alone and suffered from depression: She died a broken woman.

She had been a housewife, a couch potato, who sat around for most of the day, watching soap operas that had no beginning, and no end. _One could only guess what she got out of them!_

Her best friend was always close by: cheap whiskey. Most days Eric would come home from school to find her past out on their tattered, old sofa with her mouth opened wide.

There were times in which he would come home to find her sitting at their cracked, dilapidated, vinyl kitchen table, with a thick, leather belt in hand; with a dark, recessed look on her face―as though her mind, her thoughts were not her own―seething, loathing, waiting to wale on his flesh until her appetite for hate had been met; until she had punished him for the pain and suffering caused by the hands of her husband whom had abandoned her emotionally and physically, not long after his birth.

_Lash! Lash!_

Over and over again, she would beat Eric for whatever reasons she had ginned up in her mind. He hated to look in her eyes: They were filled with nothing but hatred, and the sight of them ran a cold streak up and down his spine; white and glaring, they seemed possessed by some evil force― the smell of poison on her breath intensified the awful experience of her vicious attacks.

Eric's father was a police officer who worked in one of the toughest neighborhoods in Brooklyn: He and his job were one in the same. In fact, there were times in which they did not see him for days. However, when he was home, they wished that he wasn't. There was no love, no peaceful contentedness, only discontent and loathing surrounded them. _Evil was alive in that home_.

His dad was dead and he felt alone and abandoned. And so, like many do, he looked for friendship and security, and he found them in the streets of Brooklyn.

School became a second thought, and there was no one to guide him back to the classroom. Usually, Eric would bring in a phony note about being sick, or something like that, with his mother's name forged on it by his hand. However, his mischief had, somehow eluded his teachers. Or perhaps, they just had not cared enough about a young boy who was lost in his way.

A few months after being out on the streets, he made friends, who taught him the way of survival, after all, he was, pretty much, on his own, and had to eat; he couldn't count on his mother and her social security checks, or his dad's pension. Most of the money which his mother had received went to the Sara liquor fund.

However, one day, the booze had finally claimed her completely: One year after his dad died, his mother's liver gave out―poisoned with alcohol.

Eric discovered her body. He came home from school on that day, and as usual, she was laid out on their sofa. He leaned over, closer to her, and put his head close to her face. However, there was nothing; there were no sounds, no breath, no obscene snarly noises. Her chest did not rise, nor did it fall. She was dead.

_She left him too, and now, he was really all alone!_

His heart felt like it had stopped for a brief moment; he gasped, got a hold of his thoughts, though they wavered, and rushed to call the emergency hotline.

"Emergency! How can I help you?" a woman with a raspy voice asked.

Taking short breaths, he said, "My Mom is dead! She's dead!"

"How do you know that she's dead?" the woman asked.

"She's not breathing! I came home from school, and she's not breathing."

"Calm down! Everything is going to be OK! I will dispatch an ambulance for her" she continued.

In an attempt to keep Eric on the phone, the woman began to ask many questions; he tuned her out. The only thing which Eric was able to think about was that his mother was dead and that he was alone!

Just saying the word dead had sent a jolt of fear through his bones. The memory of his father's death resurfaced. He wondered what he was going to do; how was he going to survive, and who was going to take care of him, not that his mother had really taken care of him, but at least she was physically there.

Strangely, Eric was not closeto either one of my parents, but on that day, he felt an emptiness which he had never felt before. There he was, almost fifteen, with both my parents gone, and he did not have anyone else as far as family in which he trusted, or wanted to be with.

The emergency operator went on and on, with one million questions. He couldn't take it any longer. He hung up the phone, and dashed out of the apartment, leaving his mother's lifeless body on their sofa, and the emptied bottle of whiskey on the floor next to her.

He left the only life he knew, the only family he had, not knowing if he would ever return. Life in that little apartment on C Street in Brooklyn was over for Eric. And so, his only home would become the streets, and his friends would become his new family.

**FIFTEEN**

**GANG OF FOUR**

**T**ommy, seventeen, Johnny T (Johnny Terrone) who was sixteen, and Frank, well he was sixteen as well. Together, they became Eric's best buddies, they were his family. They taught him the way, the way to stay alive. What ever it took, short of murder, to stay alive, they did it.

They became known as the gang of four in the streets of Brooklyn: They were fearless, invincible, if only in their own minds!

In the beginning, their crimes were small, harmless: stolen food from a busy supermarket, money from a small _geek-ish_ kid, or a helpless old woman to survive. And, when the night stars touched the sky, they sought shelter in Tommy's apartment most of the time: His mother was also absent in mind and morals. In fact, half the time, she had no idea that they were even there; they ate, drank cheap beer, and brought in a girl or two, at times.

However, some nights, they chose shelter under an overpass or bridge, or the park. As long as they were together, they were OK! They were "Brothers in Arms," and they had each others backs!

The years rolled by, they grew older, and became more proficient in their life of crime. Their appetites grew stronger for bigger, more daring escapades; greed began to take over.

However, one night, that greed came to a screeching halt! The boys made one mistake which changed everything: It changed their lives forever. That night, although he didn't know it then, Eric's life took a turn for the better. That night, he met Captain Jim Callahan ―affectionally called Cap.

The four boys, Eric, Tommy, Frank, and Johnny T decided that they were going to go for the big times, make lots of money, and become the infamous feared ones.

Tommy was the oldest: he was the boss. He came up with a plan for them to break into the worst apartment buildings, hold the people at gun point―although their guns weren't real; they did however, look real: black shiny, small hand guns that could easily be hidden―and simply demand money or other valuables; if only it were that easy. They had not intended to harm anyone. And, it helped that most of the people who lived in those apartments were either poor or old.

It had been a cold and wet night, somewhere in the middle of January. It had not been the ideal night for going out and robbing folks, but they were the gang of four, invincible and fearless.

They had banked on the fact that most of the residences would have been locked up inside their apartments because of the frigid weather; it was, in fact, a perfect night for robbing old, poor folks!

Eight P.M., that night, Tommy, Frank, Johnny T, and Eric walked into an apartment building on D Street, further away from their normal hang out: They had hoped that no one would recognize them.

The boys labored to act normal and contrary to the fact of their intentions. As far as people were concerned, they were just kids hanging out because they had nothing better to do.

They opened the heavy, silvery metal door. The door slammed behind them. They jumped, but that slight jolt of fear did not send them running the other way! In fact, they weren't afraid; at least they would not have admitted it.

The sterile, white foyer' was empty, and evoked a creepy quietness. Eric felt a chill run down his spine: He had begun to have second thoughts, that maybe what they were about to do may not have been such a good idea. However, he kept it to him-self. Besides, the other guys seem unmoved. In fact, they were high on adrenalin; they all were.

The gang of four got on the elevator, and rode a whopping one flight up to the second floor, since it would have made it easier and shorter for them in the case they had to make a run for it.

They picked apartment 2a randomly. However, what they did not know was that apartment 2a was the resident of a loved and seasoned police officer. _Perhaps they should have done some researching._

_Knock, Knock._

Theyheard foot steps approach the peeling old, brown door.

"Who is it?" asked a man with a harsh scratchy voice.

"Please help us! My friend is hurt, and we need to call an ambulance! Please, hurry! Eric asked in a fake panicky voice, while the other boys tried desperately to smother their laughter.

The man quickly opened the door! And before he could take another breath, or utter another word, the gang of four rushed him down to the floor, and closed the door behind them! Tommy and Frank held him down, while Johnny T and Eric began to rummage through the place.

"Get off of me you worthless punks!" The man demanded as he tried to get control of his hands.

Johnny T and Eric were so caught up with rummaging through his apartment, that they had not realized that they were no longer in control. The thing was, they had no idea what they were looking for, except for maybe some money. However, for the most part, they had a sense of empowerment, as if they were in control of their universe.

"Put your hands up, and get over there, you little, no-good punks!" Eric and Johnny T heard the man say from the direction of their backs.

Johnny T and Eric turned around to find Tommy and Frank lodged in the corner of the room with their hands up in the air with beads of sweat rolling off their foreheads and trembling lips.

Somehow, the man with orange hair, and scratchy voice had been able to gain access to the service revolver which had been resting in a holster under his black pullover: they had no idea that he was a cop!

All four of them looked nervously at each other, not knowing what to do! Tommy and Frank made a dash for the door while the orange hair cop had been focused on Johnny T and Eric.

_Bang!_

The invincible gang saw Frank hit the floor! Tommy had just made it out! The man rushed over to Frank!

"Hell!" he said.

The boys were in shock: They couldn't believe what had happened! It was supposed to be simple: they were supposed to sucker someone into helping them, break in, take some stuff, and leave! Johnny T and Eric looked at each; they were desperate, and made a run for it; at least they tried! Johnny T made it. However, Eric was not so lucky. _Or, perhaps he was, because it was on that night his life had made a turning point towards the light._

"Where do you think you're going?" asked the orange hair shooter.

Eric was speechless. He stood there with his hands up in the air, watching Frank gasp for air: blood eased out from underneath his back. A few minutes later, the sirens could be heard.

The orange hair man had ordered Eric to stand in the corner where Frank lay dying. Eric was scared out of my mind. He looked at Frank.

"This sucks Eric," he said, in a weakened voice with a peculiar grin on his face.

The color in Frank's face had turned to a dull gray-blue; tears rushed down his cheeks; death was calling him. Eric wanted desperately to help, but he was helpless.

_It wasn't supposed to happen that way._

"Make sure to dispatch an ambulance, and hurry!" Eric heard the man say―still with the gun pointed in his direction―to someone on his cell.

A few minutes later, there were blues flooding the front door: seemed as if they had responded to a gang shoot out.

"Hey Cap! Are you ok?" asked a cop, with his gun drawn.

"Yeah! I'm fine, but this kid isn't! I shot him! Two of them got away and this one, well, he was too slow," referring to Eric! "Cuff him, and take him downtown."

**SIXTEEN**

**I**t was about two the next morning.Eric heard voices inching closer to him. A few seconds later, the man with the orange hair and scratchy voice stood before him.

"Remember me?" he asked. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Captain Jim Callahan, the old guy that you and your buddies tried to rob. I have some bad news. Your buddy didn't make it; he lost too much blood."

Eric was stunned. He couldn't believe it. A few days before, they were invincible, so they thought. But, Frank was gone!

He held on with both hands to the jail bars, and shook them vigorously; he wanted to rip them out, but instead a scream bolted its way out of his trembling mouth. He felt cursed, destined to live a life of misery. Everything, everyone, who had ever meant anything to him, had been destroyed: first his dad, then his mom, and now Frank! He felt as though he had nothing to live for; that, his life was a big waste of time!

"Calm down Son!" he heard the Captain say. "Calm down."

By then the captain had all the information that he needed on Eric.

"Social Service has been looking for you for a while now. We know that both your parents are deceased and that your dad was a cop in the second division" "What happened to you?"' he asked.

Eric's heart was overflowing with anger and hate for the world; he did not answer.

"Well, I'm sorry about your friend, but after all, you did bring this on yourselves" the captain said, and then walked away.

That night, Eric's world had closed in all around him. In his mind, it was the end, and he had nothing to live for. Little did he know that it would be the beginning of something worth while, something beautiful, something to live for; him!

Later that morning, two police officers, along with a social service agent, came to take Eric to an isolated room. Waiting for him in that room, was the captain. In his hands were two cups, one coffee, and the other, hot chocolate, which he offered to Eric. By then, he was starving. He would have shoveled down just about anything.

"Sit down Son." said the captain. "Let's have a little talk."

At first, Eric was a little hesitant, but he did as he was told. The captain sat on the opposite end of Eric with his hands folded on the table. A few seconds later, he took a quick sip of hot coffee, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stared at Eric for a few seconds, wondering what he was going to say to a punk kid like him. However, Eric stared back, intensely at him, and took a quick sip of hot chocolate, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So kid, what are we going to do about this mess you got yourself into, hah?" he asked. "We ran your finger prints and photo through records; we've been looking for you for a long time; I've been looking for you. Like I told you before, we know what happened to your parents," he said. "The whole thing is sad. I guess you've been out there all this time, hah? Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"' he asked.

Frank was gone. Eric had no idea what had happened to Johnny T and Tommy. He felt helpless and alone in the world. Finally, Eric responded. He told the captain everything: the day his dad died, about his mom and her drinking, and how she used to beat him, and what he did after she died; he had even told him about the crimes that he and the boys had committed (he had nothing more to lose).

Eric had been desperate to talk, to tell someone, anyone, who would listen about what he had been through.

A breath of relief entered him: A great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As he told his story he was unable to hold back the tears: he cried like a baby, unstoppable, like the rushing rain― the flood gates had opened up, and he wasn't alone. Captain Callahan, a strong, orange hair, seasoned cop, tried very hard to hold back the tears. That day, Eric felt a thousand pounds lighter!

The captain made Eric a life changing offer:

Well, you know that you should be sent to Juve…he said. But I'm thinking, if you want, I will talk to the Judge later, and see if he will release you into my custody, if you want to take the chance. You see Son, you're the son of a cop, and by the way, your dad and I trained together at the police academy; we were good friends then.

However, after graduation, we were assigned to different units, but we kept in touch over the years. Sometimes we would get together at Sullivan's Bar on Third Street. He often spoke about you, how much he loved you, and how proud he was of you; he made me promise that if anything had ever happened to him that I would step in to watch over you! He did tell me about your mother's drinking.

After your dad died, I tried to help out, but your mother would not let me come near you! I tried several times, but to no avail, I failed! We take care of our own Son, no matter what!

Now, like I said, it's up to you; you can take your chances in Juve, or you can take the chance with me, and perhaps, make something out of your life. You don't have to agree now. You have until later today before I speak to the

judge. So, think about it, and let me know your decision later.

Eric could see in his eyes that he had been sincere. That he really wanted to help. However, his head, at the moment, felt as if it had been spinning around in a state of confusion.

There he was sitting in jail, talking to the man whom had killed his friend, whom wanted him to live with him, whom wanted to take care of him; he had no idea what to do. It all seemed so unreal, like he had been living outside of his body!

For several hours, Eric weighed his options: If he did not take the captain up on his offer, he would most likely end up back on the streets, probably dead with in the year. Or, if he went with him, he could have a chance at life, but what kind of friend, brother would he be if he went to live with the man who had killed his friend; he would be a traitor!

Later on that day, Eric asked to speak to the captain. He went to his holding cell.

"I'll give it a try, but I can't promise that I won't just leave if I don't like it!" Eric said.

He felt as though he had no other choice, really: he needed to eat, a place to sleep. And, in addition, he knew a few others who were in Juve, as well as in foster homes, and from what they had told him, living on the streets was far better. They felt safer―some of them were abused in more ways than one.

Captain Callahan and Eric walked into a small conference room. There was a small, worn, brown wooden table, with four worn wooden chairs set around it.

A woman―tall (at least six feet) short brown hair that looked like it had been cut with an old, dull kitchen knife, and deep brown eyes, which gave a warning of _beware,_ black pants with a cream colored shirt―had extended her hand out:

"Hi, I'm Mrs. Sullivan," she said.

Captain Callahan politely extended his hand, and shook it; Eric kept his hands safely tucked inside his pant pockets.

After about an hour of discussions about his life, what would be best for the boy, the necessary psychological treatments, Mrs. Sullivan asked Eric if he would be Ok with the arrangement.

"Yeah," he answered, reluctantly.

The required papers were signed; the thank _yous_ were said. And, the final handshakes were executed.

That evening, the Captain and Eric, in his squad car―this time he sat in the front instead of the back, which felt really strange to him―started their way to his apartment on D Street.

As they inched closer to the apartment, a sickening feeling had suddenly hit Eric in the cavernous pits of his belly! His breath began to shorten; with each breath a rush of nervousness spiraled through him. He felt as if he had been the body in a hearse that was making its final journey through the neighborhood of which it lived.

He began to have second thoughts, and wondered if he had made a mistake; perhaps it would have been better to go to Juve!

"Are you ok Son?" asked Captain Callahan.

Trying to look disaffected, calm, cool, Eric told the captain that he was fine.

"I know that this is hard for you, losing your parents, your friend. By the way, I am so sorry for what happened! I know that you probably don't believe me, but with time, I hope that you will be able to forgive me! I was only trying to protect myself!" said the captain.

"Whatever man" Eric replied, at the same time, rolling his eyes as if what the captain had said didn't matter.

"By the way, you can call me Jim" the captain said. However, Eric did not respond.

Jim parked his car directly in front of the old apartment building, and exited the car. He signaled for Eric to do the same. However,

Eric hesitated for a moment, and then finally, he decided to get out.

The building seemed massive as he stood there looking up at it. He could see the four of them (laughing, excited) Tommy, Johnny T, Frank and himself entering the building in his mind's eye. His body felt heavy, paralyzed with fear and pain.

"Come on Son! Everything is going to be all right!" said Jim.

They boarded the elevator. It had been just the two of them, and the quiet was as thick as a block of ice. With in a few minutes, they were standing in front of Jim's apartment.

Eric could still hear the voices of the other guys whispering, laughing about what they were about to do. He could see the expressions on their faces; he could feel the life surging with in. But now, everything was different.

Jim opened the door to his apartment. Eric did not follow him in right away. He knew that once he walked through that door, he would see Frank still lying on the floor with blood flowing from his body, although his body had been removed several hours before, and the blood had been wiped clean!

'"Come Son! It's all right,"' said Jim.

With his hands tucked safely in to his pockets, looking at the floor, Eric walked in slowly, cautiously. It was only hours before since he had been here as a thief, and now, he was being invited in. _The smell of stale blood and bleach had permeated his nostrils._

Jim brought Eric to a small spare room, which was in the back of the small apartment.

"This will be your room," he said.

He looked around; the room had been painted in blue, looked like it had been painted recently. There was a twin size bed covered with a quilt of blue, red, and white, and there was an old shaggy blue carpet― the room smelled like old musty shoes, and fresh paint mixed together.

That night was hell for Eric. He kept seeing Frank's awkward smile as he lay dying on the floor. The last forty-eight hours kept repeating in his mind. He knew that Frank was dead, but Eric continued to feel his presents around him, taunting him, threatening to take him with him. It was a long, sleepless night.

The first couple of days were the hardest. Eric didn't have much to say; Jim did most of the talking. However, it was clear to Eric that Jim was trying desperately to get to know him better. In addition, the guilt which Jim had felt about Frank was evident; he talked a lot about that day!

It was three days into their new situation: Jim made dinner―corn beef hash with a side of cabbage. They sat down at the white vinyl, square table in the eighties style kitchen to eat. It was silent at first and tense. However, Jim broke the silence.

"How's your hash?"' he asked.

"It's all right," Eric answered with his eyes focused on the hash in front of him while he artfully spread it around with the fork. But then, there was silence once more.

"So, what do you want to do with your life?" Jim asked.

"I don't know," answered Eric.

Then, there was silence.

"What do you say we start with going back to school, full-time?"

However, Eric did not answer. He had forgotten all about school, or even life beyond that day. He had been so caught up with survival, Frank, his parents, just stuff, that he really had not thought about a future or the prospect of one.

"You know Eric, I know things have been really tough on you, and living here in the same house with the man who killed your friend can't be any easier,"' said Jim. A glaze of tears formed over his eyes. '"But, you can't let that hold you down, or take away any chance for you to have a good future!"'

"What do you know about it?" he asked, as he continued to stare at the hash for moral support.

"I know a lot about it! I had it rough too! You can make something of yourself! I will help you! Like I told you before, we take care of our own; don't you forget that! When you are ready, just let me know! I want to help you Son, but you've got to let me in!"' said Jim.

However, Eric pretended not to be interested in what Jim was saying, but, the truth was, he heard him loud and clear. And he knew that he was right, and something inside felt guilty about trying to rob him and putting him in the position to kill Frank.

_We killed Frank, me Tommy, Johnny T, and Frank included. We were the ones with the bright idea, our get rich quick scheme. We didn't stop to think that someone could get hurt; we didn't think!_

_He thought. _

Both Eric and Jim had hit some rough patches! However, Jim had never given up on him; he had never given up on them. Instead, Jim had become the father which Eric should have had all along! And, he grew to respect him, and maybe even love him! Jim may have saved Eric's life. In fact, he did.

**SEVENTEEN**

Several years later, Eric joined the Police academy and became a cop, but his torment didn't stop there. In fact, it increased.

The first case which he had been assigned to acted as a trigger for things past and things to come. It had awoken all the anger and pain which lay dormant inside his heart.

They (Eric's unit) had received a call to a possible crime scene! The neighbors had complained about screaming coming from the row house next door; they said that it sounded like the boy, who lived in that house! Apparently, screaming coming from that house was a normal thing, but this time the screaming had been so intense, that they were afraid that something had gone very wrong!

Eric knocked on the front door, with Falcon, his partner, at his side. A man, tall, a little bit on the heavy side, but clean cut, opened the door!

"Is everything ok, Officer?" he asked.

"We received complaints about loud screaming or crying coming from this house, Sir," explained Eric. "May we come in?"

"Sure Officer. But I can assure you that everything is fine."

They entered the property! There was a woman, attractive, with blond hair woman sitting on the sofa, watching television. Everything looked normal; the house was well kept and clean.

After a few minutes, Eric and Falcon had decided that there was no problem! That maybe, the neighbors were mistaken. Perhaps what they heard were the voices coming the television; it was loud!

"Sorry to have disturbed you Sir, Mam," Eric said.

And just as they were on our way out, they heard a thumping, a persistent, and desperate thumping!

With a heightened concern, Eric asked, "What is that noise?"

The man, very calmly, with a smile on his face said,

"My dog is in the upstairs room, Officer!"

However, the odd smile and the nervous look of his wife told another story.

Something felt wrong; Eric could feel it in his gut! Both Falcon and Eric had insisted on taking a look; the couple tried to convince them that it was their dog making that noise; they tried too hard, causing Eric and Falcon to become even more suspicious!

"Will you both lead us upstairs?" asked Eric.

"Officer, I told you, it is nothing. My dog is just being a nuisance, that's all," the man insisted nervously.

"Sir, I'm sure that it's nothing. However, we still would like to take a look," Eric said.

The reluctant couple led the two officers up the stairs towards the second floor of the home, and as they climbed, the thumping had become more pronounced and desperate.

Eric and Falcon followed the thumping sound! They opened the door to a room, a dark bedroom! However, they did not see a dog.

Eric looked suspiciously at the couple! The thumping continued, but a muffled moaning sound could be heard.

With his partner's eyes on the couple, and guns drawn, Eric cautiously moved towards the door, opened it, and there in front of him was a badly beaten boy, with hands bound behind his back and duct tape pressed firmly over his mouth.

He was immediately overcome by a rage so violent and unstoppable! Eric ordered the couple to immediately drop to the floor and put their hands behind their heads. While his partner held his weapon on the monsters, Eric untied the boy, removed the tape from his mouth as painlessly as possible, and called it in, as well as requested an ambulance.

The rage that Eric felt could not be contained! He lunged at the couple with everything in him: all the memories and pain poured out with each punch, with each kick!

The woman cried and pleaded for Eric to stop; the husband screamed expletives; his partner begged him to stop―told him that he was out of control!

Yes, he was out of control, but he did not know how to stop! It was as if a trigger had been set off unexpectedly: He saw himself in that boy, who by then was so traumatized, that he sat with his arms wrapped around his knees in a corner of the closet, staring wildly into nothingness!

The ambulance came, and the paramedics took the boy. By then back-up had arrived to find a man and a woman badly beaten.

An officer had asked how that had happened! Eric was about to tell the truth; he was willing to take the fall! There had been so much adrenalin pumping through his veins at that moment that he did not care about what would have happened to him!

Fortunately, for Eric, his partner immediately cut him off; he stopped him from incriminating himself! Falcon told the others that they, the couple had been resisting arrest; that the husband struck Eric, and so, they took them down forcefully!

Eric went along, especially since he was starting to come down from his adrenalin high.

The incident was never mentioned again, not by Eric, or his partner. It was as though it had never happened. The couple did, however, make an official complaint, but after what they had done to that boy, the matter was quickly dismissed, and the papers had disappeared.

After that day, Eric's rage had continued! He became addicted to the chase! He wanted to hunt it down, capture it, and kill it! He asked to be sent to the most heinous of crime scenes, because he knew that evil would be there.

It wasn't enough to catch a thief; Eric wanted the rapist, the murderers, the child abusers; he wanted to punish them for their evil deeds.

Since that day, Eric blamed them all for his pain and suffering. He thought that he had seen all from living on the streets as a young boy, but he was wrong.

It seemed as if evil had spread like a weed that no one could kill. He imagined the devil waving his wand for his demon orchestra to play the songs of hell. The only thing was, he was a part of that orchestra, playing a dangerous instrument which could be heard in both heaven and hell.

It was an eye opener for Eric. But, the worst thing of all, he felt as though he was beginning to lose himself, his soul. He felt evil: The streets were beginning to change him inside and out. Eric and the streets were one, and evil continued to reign.

**EIGHTTEEN**

**THE KENITES**

**I**t had awoken in the streets of Brooklyn: An evil that put the rest of the world on notice for the beginning of an end that had been well earned and, perhaps, well deserved.

With praying palms pressed tightly together, dressed in white, hooded robes and thick, long, golden chains weighted down with a gold medallion inscribed in red the word "_KENITES_" proudly displayed over the white backdrop, they chanted over and over:

**Make way for the one.**

**Make way for the one.**

**MAKE WAY FOR THE ONE.**

**MAKE WAY FOR THE ONE.**

**MAKE WAY FOR THE ONE****.**

The chant climaxed as the moment of the offering drew near.

The anticipation of the blood bath, the smell, the taste, that would cleanse them, baptize them, bring them closer to the prodigious being they called the One filled them with joy for knowing that the time was near for the harvesting evil, which had been planted deeply into the souls of man.

Their leader, Cain, Son of Bane, the fallen, waited patiently in the dark, breathing heavily as he became intoxicated by the powerful, omniscient presence, which filled the room.

He sat on his throne (an engineer's chair ripped from an antique subway car left over from the nineteenth twenties under the old Court Street Station in Brooklyn), and watched with deep, empty eyes, as his followers marched solemnly around their victims, who had been drugged and left completely unaware of their fatal destiny.

They waited peacefully on folded chairs, with their arms tied securely to their backs, smiling, laughing, bathed in euphoric waters, waiting to be sacrificed to whom they call the One. The drug had begun to wear off, and their eyes were fully opened to witness their own destruction.

The streets above were dark, quiet, or as quiet as Brooklyn can be on a cool fall night. Everything was normal: the twenty-four hour diners were packed with late night eaters. The yellow taxi cabs rushed their riders to Manhattan, Queens, and police cruisers patrolled the busy streets.

The _Kenites_ chanted themselves into a climatic passion, where they lost all ability to reason, to think things through; their minds had become possessed.

The chanting had come to an abrupt stop, and the honored few, the high priest and priestesses, revealed the daggers of Hades, with their eyes glazed with evil nothingness―white and glaring―as they lunged at their victims―a minister, a young teenage prostitute―stabbing, slicing, crazed with murder, creating a bath filled with the blood of their innocents, as they all shared in the bathing.

Cain stood and stretched his arms above his head, with the Jagawak in hand, breathing heavily with excitement and fulfillment, and says, "This is for you Father!"

And after their evil thirst had been satisfied, the Kenites took to the streets under the cover of night, and brushed in blood on church doors, synagogues, and community centers―even their own―the words, "The harvest is at hand."

**NINETEEN**

_**ANOTHER MESSAGE: ANOTHER DREAM**_

**I**t would be a battle for the ages**: **The final battle between good and evil. Eric found himself fighting for both sides. It was as if he had been two of the same people, where one was fighting for the preservation of evil, and the other, for the preservation of good.

An angel of good called the charge, and the angel of evil responded with hearts racing, blood burning with the fire of destruction, legs running swiftly and impatiently, each rushing feverishly towards the other into battle, until they crashed and fought savagely without mercy, each trying to undo the other!

He woke up with a cold sweat. His body quivered, not knowing where he was, or who he was; not knowing if his heart had been filled with evil, or if, it had been filled with goodness.

He looked around the room, trying to gain any level of sanity and a prospective of his reality. He looked on the other side of the bed for Shel, but he was alone. Eric was sure that she had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room―it had been her favorite place to sleep.

It was still dark out, about five in the morning. Getting back to sleep would have been next to impossible, especially after having another dream, the same dream which he had been having over and over again for months. And each time, Eric had been left more bemused about their meaning.

He got out of bed and into the shower. And, as the warmth of water beat down on his back, his shoulders, Eric tried to make sense of it all. What was the message? He thought, maybe, he was going crazy. Maybe there, really, were two people inside: one good, one evil. And maybe, he had to choose one.

His mind had become completely wracked, overloaded. His body had begun to burn from the heat of the water, signaling that it was time to get out the shower.

Eric rushed to dry his body, which had turned cold, and clear his mind of confusion. He threw on a pair of blue jeans, a checked shirt and quietly walked by Shelby, whom, still, had been asleep on the sofa. Then, he left for work; it was his escape.

The morning had _snailed_ by, and he had already gone through his third cup of high octane sludge. Only seven A.M…., and in the middleof looking at the DNA reports of blood samples taken and matched to the victims' DNA on file the month before when the call came in.

It was a witness, whom had claimed to have seen blood stained doors on churches and community centers― religious places in general. It could only have meant one thing: more death and murder of the weak and the faithful.

It had been one year since the first sighting. Mostly, they had been able to identify the victims. However, they came up short with who the killers were. They had nothing! They just did not exist: No fingerprints were found, no traces of hair fibers, gloves, murder weapons, or witnesses. The killers were like ghost.

However, all the victims had one thing or another in common: they were, for the most part homeless. Some were prostitutes. Also, what was really strange was that there were a few ministers, outliers of sorts. It just didn't add up.

Why kill them? They were supposed to be the good ones! What was the link? That was the real puzzle.

Eric and his team (Burk, Smith, Connolly, and Gordon) had arrived at one of four scenes, a community center on Court Street. There were frightened faces looking on, wondering if they would be next.

Eric stood back with in the perimeter of the yellow crime scene tape for a few seconds and looked at the blood markings.

_What causes people to do things like this, he thought. _

Flashes of the re-occurring dream entered his mind as scenes from an epic movie that had been riveting and undeniably moving. It was as if he had been asleep but awake, or had suddenly been transported to some other time and place.

Cap came over and stood next to him.

"In all my years on this job, I have never seen anything so evil!" he said, with a somber look on his face. "Those poor people, they didn't deserve this!"'

"Yes, I know Cap. It's terrible," Eric said.

"Eric, we got to end this! We got to find the evil bastards who are doing this!"

"I know Cap. And we will. We will."

However, the truth was, Eric had no idea about how they would solve this case. His mind stirred with confusion and worry, not just for the case in front of him, but for his own personal life.

Back at the station, the pictures of missing people whom had already been identified as victims to those killings (they assumed that they were dead) lined the evidence wall.

Eric spent months looking at their faces and learning about them―lifestyle, habits. It became personal. He felt as if each of them were someone whom he had known personally. He was determined to find their killers. Eric felt as though he owed them at least that much.

The place had been completely covered withcrime scene investigators. They took as many blood samples as possible, as well as brushed for fingerprints. But he knew that, with all the supposing evidence which had been collected, nothing would turn up, except for the identities of the unfortunate victims.

A man―looked like he was at least in his forties, or so, with graying blond hair, blue eyes, dressed in washed out jeans and a thick black cardigan―crossed under the crime scene tape and approached Eric.

"Sir, please go back, only police personnel are allowed," said an officer, blocking him with one hand.

"I'm the owner of this community center Officer," the man responded.

"It's ok Brady!" Eric said, after hearing the commotion. "Let him through."

"Officer, who could have done this?

"And who are you? Eric asked.

"Oh! I'm sorry Officer! My name is Mr. Salinger. This is just a community center! We help people! I just don't understand!" he said, with a frightened distressed look on his face.

Several news teams were at the scene; they were spread out to all of the crime scenes. It was assumed that the murders had taken place at another location, since the only evidence at all the crime scenes were the words, "The harvest is at hand" written in blood. But, where? And how? They had no clues.

"Do you have any leads?" asked one reporter. "It has been a year! Why is it taking so long?"

The police unit were being bombarded with questions!

"What are you doing to keep us safe!" yelled a voice out of

the crowd of people.

"You guys are punks! Useless!"

"Ok! Just hold on a minute there!" said Cap, as he got in front of his officers, protecting them from the vicious crowd. "We have been working tirelessly for months, trying to solve this case! And I am confident that we will catch whoever is doing this!"

A camera man had his focus on Cap as he was speaking feverishly, trying to calm the unruly crowd.

"Yeah! Bull!" yelled another.

"Have you found a murder weapon?" asked a reporter.

"What aren't you telling us? The public has the right to know!"

"Get that camera out of my face," yelled Cap, redirecting the black television camera with his hands.

"As soon as we have all the answers, we will hold a press conference. Please, we are working as diligently as possible. Leave this area! Go home!" ordered Cap, as the crowd became more vocal and threatening. "Eric, do you think you have enough material?" he asked, with a wild anxious look on his face, which had been blushed in red.

"Yes Cap!"

'"Then let's clean up and get the hell out of here before things get out of hand."'

The officers packed up their gear and headed back to the precinct, knowing that they would, most likely, come up empty handed again, unless a miracle happened, or the killers had somehow messed up.

Just then, Eric realized that the man who had introduced himself as Mr. Salinger had disappeared. With all the commotion, he had completely lost sight of him.

**TWENTY**

_**WHO WAS BOB SALINGER?**_

He sat and waitedin his 1999 BMW 328i for the crowd of people to dissipate and for Eric and his posse of detectives and c_rime scene investigators _to leave the perplexing crime scene. Then, being careful not to bring attention to himself, he slowly and carefully removed the blue contacts to reveal his empty brown eyes, and removed the grayish blond wig to reveal his dark brown hair. The man looking back at him from the rearview mirror was Cain.

Cain laughed with pride and an over abundance of confidence as he sped off to his apartment, fifteen minutes away across the street from Prospect Park, where he lived with his wife Joy, who knew him as Phillip and had no knowledge of him as Cain.

Phillip entered his apartment to find his wife sitting on their brown leather sofa, sobbing, and holding a piece of undergarment that did not belong to her.

"Why?" she yelled at him, throwing the piece of clothing in his direction, hitting him in the face. "You promised Phillip! You promised!"

"Joy! Joy! I didn't break my promise to you! I meant it when I said, that I loved you too much to let anything or anyone get between us!"

"Then, what is this!" she yelled, pointing to the black lacy undergarment which had belonged to Louisa Westgate, whom, from time to time had visited Cain there. "Unless you have suddenly become a drag-queen, and this belongs to you, I demand to know what has been going on!"

"No! I'm not a drag-queen. He said, as he tried to think of what to say. This has, probably, been here for a very long time, like over a year when I told you about that one time of weakness, which didn't mean anything to me, and you have just now found it!"

Joy remained on the sofa, bent over, trying to think and trying to decide if Phillip had been truthful. She thought that maybe it was from over a year ago. After all, she had not cleaned underneath her bed for almost two years!

"Joy, Honey, I love you! I would never break my promise to you!" said Phillip, kneeling in front of Joy, holding her shoulders gently, trying to sway her in another direction, knowing that he had Louisa in his apartment and in his bed just the night before.

He began to kiss her forehead gently, her wet cheeks, her neck, causing Joy to lose her will, and give into him completely.

Phillip had to keep his marriage together. Joy was his cover. A divorce would have jeopardized his existence as Cain. She provided the money―old money―for the continued existence of his cult.

**TWENTY-ONE**

_**ERIC BACK AT THE PRECINCT**_

**E**ven afterEric and his unit had arrived back at the precinct, the cold, airy feeling left over from the crime scene was still as thick as a block of ice. They just couldn't shake it.

The smell of the stale blood, while Eric stood directly in front of it, was locked in his nostrils, sending a repeating noxious sensation throughout his stomach and up his throat.

Cap went over to his desk. '"Eric, what do you think?"' he asked, with an anxious look. Eric had never seen Jim (Cap) so worked up about a case before this one. It had totally consumed him; it consumed them all.

"I don't know Cap. I just don't know."

"The entire Tri-Borough area is gripped with fear. I have neighbors coming up to me, knocking on my door, and asking me, 'when I'm going catch the murderers?' They're afraid that they're _gonna_ be next! I don't know what to tell _em_."

"I know it's hard Cap," Eric said, trying to console him. And we're _gonna_ catch the evil bastards. We're _gonna_ catch _em._"

A call came in, a man claiming to have seen who made the blood writings on the door of a church downtown. He claimed that he saw a black man, tall, wearing a brown hooded robe at the scene the previous night. And, that he seemed to have been writing or painting something on the white door.

This was supposed to be the big break! The one which they had been waiting for!

"Eric, Connolly, I want you to go see this witness―a Mr. Buddy Harris. Make sure you get a full statement! I don't have to tell you what to do," said Cap. "Here is his address. _(Cap handed Eric a piece of paper with the witnesses' address)_ In the mean time, I'll do a search to see if this guy is who he says he is, or if he has a criminal background."

Filled with enthusiasm, Connolly and Eric rushed out of the Precinct to a black unmarked car, which had been parked by the curb out front. They got in, Connolly in the passenger side, and as the driver.

"Man, I hope that this witness can give us something. Anything!" said Connolly as he closed the door on his side.

"Yea! Me too man. Let's go!" Eric said as the two men sped through the streets towards Park Street, Downtown.

With in fifteen minutes they arrived at an old apartment building, parked the car on the curb, and proceeded to enter the brown brick building. There was a security guard in the lobby.

"Can I help you?" he asked as Eric and Connolly made their approach to the elevators.

"Hey," Eric said as he began to pull out his badge. "I'm Detective Jonas, and this is my partner Connolly. We want to speak to a (_Looking at the piece of paper)_ a Mr. Buddy Harris, Apartment 4c."

"Sure Officer," said the Security Guard.

Connolly and Eric entered the elevator, which had already been waiting for them, and rode it to the fourth floor.

They exited the elevator and walked a few doors down the dark gray, slender hall. Eric knocked on the red door, Apartment 4c.

"Doesn't sound as if he's home," Eric said to Connolly, feeling a little disappointed.

"Hold on, I think I hear him coming," said Connolly.

"Who is it?" asked a voice from the other side of the door― sounded old and frail.

"Are you Mr. Harris? Buddy Harris?" Eric asked.

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

"This is Detective Jonas and Detective Connolly. You called into the station. You said that, you have some information for us. May we come in?"

"Oh yes, yes," said Mr. Harris, while he fiddled around with the lock on his door until he was finally able to open it.

Before them stood a short elderly man, with pasty olive skin speckled with dark brown spots; a few strings of gray hairs strewed on his head and sunken blue-gray eyes: He was wearing a striped blue pajamas.

"Please come in Officers! Please!"

The old-man stood off to the side, with one hand on his door, allowing Eric and Connolly to enter his apartment.

Eric pulled out his badge, and both he and Connolly had formally introduced them-selves.

As they made their way further into Mr. Harris's small apartment, Eric began to notice the pictures of what seemed like clan rallies, and pictures of Hitler and others within the same theme.

An uneasy feeling came over him. In the pit of his stomach, he felt like something wasn't right about the whole thing.

"May we sit down?" Eric asked the old-man.

"Yea! Yea! Please sit!

They made them-selves comfortable on the old man's torn sofa.

"Mr. Harris. May I call you Buddy?" Eric asked as he removed the small writing pad which he had in his pants pocket and a pen from his shirt pocket.

"Can you tell us what you saw that night?" Eric asked.

"Oh yes. Oh yes. It was a black man. I could see him as clear as day."

"Well what exactly did you see?" asked Connolly.

"Well, he was wearing some kind of long black or maybe brown robe. I saw him write on the door."

"Do you normally go out that late?" Eric asked.

"Well..."

"Let me guess, you went to a bar to get a drink." Connolly said jokingly.

"Well, I may be old, but I'm still alive."

"So did you go to the bar?" Eric asked.

"Yea."

"And what was the name of it?"

"Let me see. Let me see," he seemed to search his mind for the right answer. "I think it was Lo something or another," he said finally.

"How old are you Buddy?" asked Connolly.

"Seventy-nine, and still going," he said proudly.

"So describe the man you saw again," Eric asked.

"Well, like I said, he was a black man. I mean, _who would you_ have expected to do something like that?" he said, with a malicious tone to his voice.

"Was he tall, short?" asked Connolly.

"He was tall."

"And what was he wearing again?" Eric asked.

"Well, like I said, he was wearing baggy pants and a jacket―just as I said before."

"Actually, before you said that he was wearing a long robe, a long brown robe" Eric pointed out to him.

"Well, what difference does it make? I saw him, and he was a black man."

"There are lots of black men, just like there are white men in Brooklyn. What else can you tell us about what you saw?" Connolly asked.

"I don't _got_ anything else. I just know that he was black."

"Yea we got that," Eric said, completely confident that Buddy had been lying the whole time.

"So Buddy, let me tell you what I think," Eric said as he began to put away the writing pad and pen. "You are lying. You didn't see _nutten_ that night, did you?"

_Mr. Budddy Harris was silent_.

"Do you know that it's a crime to give a false statement to the police? You could go to jail for this!" Eric said, with intensity, slightly raising his voice. "Do you want to go to jail Buddy?"

Buddy looked away from the two officers and said, "No."

"Why don't you tell us the truth Buddy," demanded Connolly.

"I didn't see _nutten, _all right. I didn't see _nutten_."

"So why Buddy? Why?" Eric asked. He could feel the anger beginning to steam inside.

"I _aint_ got no reason. I just know that _them_ folks are all the same. They're the only ones that would do this _kina_ thing! Don't you know that?"

Eric was unable to stomach the sight and evil of Mr. Harris further. Both were ready to get out of there.

"You know what Buddy? You're a lucky man, because, if you weren't so old and stupid, my fist would have landed on your face a while ago. You make me sick, and I hope you die soon and go to hell, you prejudice bastard!" Eric said with his finger pointed very closely at his face.

**TWENTY-TWO**

_**ERIC BRINGS HIS WORK HOME**_

**I**t was about midnightwhen Eric entered the apartment**. **His body felt like it had been pulled to the ground, and he didn't have the strength to pull it up.

His mind felt overworked and flooded with the images of the victim's faces: Emily Steward, the seventeen year old girl who ran away with her boyfriend, who then got her into drugs, prostitution, and dumped her; Pastor Williamson, Pastor of the Everyman's Church on Flatbush Avenue; Music, the homeless man, whom, they were told, played Beethoven's Fifth with a host of rubber bands strung together, and the list went on. And the only thing they found of them was blood smeared on doors.

Shelby had fallen asleep on the sofa, as she often did. He tried not to wake her; he only wanted to fall into bed. However, as Eric crept by her she opened her eyes and looked at him with fury.

"I had your dinner in the warming oven for hours," she finally said. "You could have called."

"I was tied up at the precinct all day. I didn't have time…."

"That's what you said the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that…."

"Look Shel, I'm tired, frustrated; all I want to do is go to bed."

"I am so sick and tired of you coming home at all hours of the night, feeding me crap about being at the station all day, when I know that you were with some slut. Meanwhile, I'm here waiting for you, keeping your food warm, the coffee hot! I can't do this anymore Eric," she said, with anger and tears in her eyes.

"All right, all right, shut up. Shut the hell up. At least you get to sleep all day on the damn sofa, just like my lazy mother! I have to work my ass off to feed you and keep a roof over your head! You ungrateful bitch! Just shut your mouth!"

"No! I will not shut up. Staying at home wasn't my idea!" yelled Shelby, this time sitting up, ready to confront Eric.

His anger had reached such a boiling point that no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to hold back the beast which had been waiting impatiently to attack.

He grabbed her hair tightly, tilted her head back and slapped her hard and commanding several times until her mouth had stopped talking.

The noise in his head had quieted, the beast had satisfied its thirst, and Eric was able to go to bed. That was all he wanted― rest.

However, that night, sleeping seemed to be an endless fight. Eric tossed and turned, trying to fight the images of the slain victims, their awkward smiles on their DMV photos.

Several of the victims also had photos taken after they had been arrested for drunken, disorderly behavior, prostitution and theft. But, he kept asking him-self the question; why the minister? He could not find the connection.

Finally, when he had fallen asleep, he found him-self in another strange dream, where he was at war with the devil, who called himself Bane.

And Eric was given the command to banish him from the earth. And then, he saw images of Shelby, weeping, bruised, and stretched out on their green sofa with her eyes closed shut and floating in a large swimming pool filled with blood, while Eric held a bloody dagger in his hand, standing over her, watching her die a slow and painful death.

She opened her eyes! "Why? Why Eric?" she asked in a fain, dying voice. "Why have you killed me?"

Immediately after, Eric felt his body, his soul being dragged to two different directions. On one side, he had the beast of hell, and on the other was a beautiful angel with long silvery hair.

"You may not claim him." he heard her yell at the beast from hell. "You may not claim him. You may not claim his soul," she said with a strong commanding voice.

Eric woke with a cold sweat and a guilty heart to find Shelby sitting by the window in the dark looking out at the cold, dark world.

"Shel, I'm sorry," he said softly.

Eric truly was sorry. However, she did not answer. He couldn't blame her. After all, it wasn't the first time that she had heard him say sorry for hitting her; sorry for acting like an animal.

He tried to apologize again. And again, she did not answer. Her mind was somewhere else; she had drifted away into the night, far away from home, far away from him.

**TWENTY-THREE**

_**THE SAME MORNING**_

**E**** ric **left early**. **It didn't make sense for him to stay at home, especially since Shelby couldn't stand to look at him, or even to be in the same room with him.

However, he was not the only one whom had been having sleeping problems. When he walked into the squad room, Cap, Burk, and Connolly were already there sitting around their desk throwing back donuts and coffee.

_What else would you expect from a bunch of city cops? _

_They love their coffee._

"You look as though you slept on the train tracks," said Cap. All the guys laughed.

"Ha! Very funny Cap," Eric replied.

"I can see that I'm not the only one who didn't get much sleep," he said.

"Yea. Been here since five," said Smith. "I was driving my wife crazy. So she threw me out of the apartment."

"Cap, I've been thinking about the case," Eric said.

"Which one?"

"The multiple killings…." "I've been thinking that we need to find the bodies. So far, we haven't found any."

_And it wasn't for the lack of trying. _

"No kidding Sherlock!"

"Obviously the murders are taking place somewhere else other than where we have seen smeared blood. Maybe even multiple places!" said Cap. "I tell you, this case has every Cop from here to New Jersey on high alert! We got to figure this out!"

"I say we search every warehouse―empty, or not―every abandoned building, and garage," Connolly suggested.

"Yea! I agree," Cap said. "But it's going to be tough! First of all, it will require a massive amount of man power and money; the city is struggling already, not to mention the search permits that we'll need! You know, folks want us to catch these killers, but they don't want us searching their properties."

"We got to do it Cap!" Eric said. "It's the only way!"

"All right then! Let's move on it! Let's weed them out!"

Cap followed him over to his desk.

"Hey Eric! You look really terrible!" he said quietly. "I know this case is tough, but is there anything else going on at home?"

"No! Everything is great!" However, he sensed that Cap wasn't buying it.

"Why? Did Shel say something?"

"Oh, no, no! Not at all…" "It's just that I called there just the other day, and she didn't sound right! That's all!"

"She's fine Jim. It probably was just that time of month; you know how they get."

"Anyway Eric, you know that if there is anything that you need to talk about, you can come to me…" "I'm always here for you! You know that, right?"

"Yea Jim. I know! Don't worry, we're fine!"

"Good!" said Cap with a faint smile.

The reports for all fifty victims, beginning with the very first set of murders, were piled up on Eric's desk. They had made a sort of flow chart for each victim, mapping the last place seen for each.

"Hey guys, come over here," ordered Cap, using the ubiquitous hand signal.

Eric took out the photos of each victim, one at a time, and placed them on the whiteboard if there wasn't already a photo. Then, based on the evidence gathered, or witnesses' accounts, they tried to figure out where they were that day, times, so forth, and where they would, most likely, have ended up.

Pastor Peterson from the Anywhere Church, was invited to give a small sermon for the homeless at the Somewhere Community Center located Downtown at the old Court Street Station. But witnesses claimed to have seen him leave the center after the sermon.

Several of the homeless, men and women, had also gone to the same Community Center for a hot meal. Again, witnesses said that they were seen leaving the center. With the exception of just a few, mainly the prostitutes, all the victims had, at some point or another, been at that same Community Center.

What if those witnesses were not telling the truth? Or maybe, they had been mistaken. It was also possible that investigators were climbing up the wrong tree. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the focus should be on that Community Center.

There was a park near by the station, along with some hidden alcoves behind the stairs in the subway station, where many of the homeless called home. Eric knew them well, because, as a boy, he hung out at some of those very places.

Moles were placed in those areas, with the hope that they would be able to burrow their way into this secret society. And, eventually, expose them and their evil deeds.

The moles were unarmed but wired. It was believed that it would be best for their safety, although, there would be nothing safe about their mission. In fact, if they were caught they most likely would have been killed.

**TWENTY-FOUR**

_**EVIL NEVER DIES**_

**D**evin Biller stoodunder the cover of darkness for a period of four weeks. He watched, waited, learned and recorded the coming and going of four men: Torrel Ericson, Jake Wheatley, Juan Ramirez, and Tommy White. He witnessed the frequent visits of many precarious looking people, who seemed to always have one eye in front and one eye in the back.

They never seemed to stay for very long. In fact, each stay would be for just a few minutes, usually by the front door. However, if they did go inside, it would be for a very short time, and in most cases, they left with their hands placed firmly in their pockets, as though they were protecting something valuable.

For weeks, each night, at around midnight, he waited patiently in his black 1984 Buick, with the small pamphlet "The Way of The Kenites" a religious handbook given to him by a young woman who stood on the street corners with innocents in her eyes―she reminded him of his precious angel―on the seat of the front passenger side.

His legs were snuggly fitted under the steering wheel, as he compassionately stroked his 9mm, which rested on his right thigh. Strapped to his right ankle, was a freshly sharpened _Tanto_ dagger. He stared into the night with dead, empty eyes, deep and dark, swollen with madness and with murderous intent.

The muscles in his brownish, tan face, tensed up, revealing the blue, green veins that carried the blood of hatred through his body. Each day and each night, his vile hate grew for the four men who lived on Walnut Street in Brooklyn, New York, especially Tommy White, the leader of the C Street Lords, AKA: Suede.

_They were to blame!_

The anger and the memory of his daughter Tia, his beautiful angel whose life had been unfairly snuffed away suddenly; the image of her golden hair, pink cherry lips, and blue eyes that glimmered with happiness, burned in his heart.

Although one year had past since her death, her smile, smell, and voice were very much alive To Devin. He was unable to accept the fact that his little girl was gone: His innocent little girl was dead.

His mind revisited the many trips that they had together to the park when Tia was just a little girl. Her eagerness to hop and skip from one activity to the next, the slides, teeter-totter, but her favorite were the swings. The memory of her long golden hair flying in the wind, and the blissful laughter that echoed as he pushed her higher, and higher into the air brought tears to his eyes.

"Push me Daddy, push me! Higher Daddy, higher!" she would insist.

He remembered the sorrowful look on her face, and the tears which rushed down her cheeks whenever she fell and scraped her knees more times than one while at the park learning to ride a bike, or just simply running wild inside, or out!

"Daddy! It hurts!" she would say.

Each time, Devin was there to pick her up, hold her tightly, until there were no more tears.

Flash backs of many happy moments, with Tia, his wife _Sadine_, and himself together in there home playing, decorating the Christmas tree, playing fetch with their Golden Retriever, foxy, laughing, eating, teaching Tia to play monopoly and other games, plagued his mind, he had been teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff!

All that he had ever loved was gone, disappeared into the abyss, never to be retrieved, and hopelessness had become his present, and his future! He lost his beautiful wife to cancer three years before he lost Tia. As far as he had been concerned, he had nothing to live for; all was lost: Love, happiness, contentment; he would never find peace again!

The truth was, Tia was not so innocent! His sweet daughter quickly became eighteen, a woman, a woman, who turned to drugs and partying as a way of life.

With each use, the drugs flowed through her veins, every twist and turn, soothing, bringing her to a state of stillness, the memory of the loss of her mother slipped away, replaced by a euphoric numbness that could only be repeated with more drugs! So it continued. Day after day. Until her very last!

She had been unable to cope with reality. With pain. And a future that could not be imagined or seen. Her mother had been her best friend, the go to parent for just about anything. They had an unbreakable bond. She was lost to the world, including her father, who had been unable to reach her, though he tried.

Devin tried to comfort her. He tried to get her help through psychologist, peer groups, you name it, but nothing seemed to work. Her grief had been unbearable, and unmanageable. Her pain quickly became his pain.

_ Tia gave into heroin. It became her only friend. It became her only family, her comforter in times of need. It, also, became her end._

**TWENTY-FIVE**

_**THE NIGHT OF RETRIBUTION**_

**T**he evening was right. It was cool. The stars sparkled throughout the black and blue night sky, evoking stillness and peace which overcame Devin Biller.

The weeks of watching the red brick house on Walnut Street had come to an end. It was time to act.

Devin breathed in deeply the cool November air, which sent a euphoric sensation immediately to his head; he knew that this was the night for his Retribution; this would be the end for the four men who stole his angel from him; he would seek revenge, and find it.

Calmly and slowly, Devin placed the laser attachment, slash, silencer on to his revolver; he tightened it slowly, he wanted to relish in the moment, to feast in his anger and hate, which had been manifested by the anger, and hate that had been perpetrated by the four men.

The streets were quiet for the most part, with the exception of the usual ambulances, and police sirens echoing in the distance.

With gun safely in his right hand, tucked closely to his side, Devin quietly walked up to the dilapidated row house, with strews of garbage bags piled up in front, and broken, loose red bricks, reminiscent of its inhabitants.

He looked around cautiously for _passer-biers_; He peeked at windows for the surreptitious peeping persons. He had been careful, even down to his black, sweat like clothing. Devin was ready!

A black cat dashed by, but did not startle him! He was intent on carrying out his plans for Retribution; nothing, no-one, not even the fear of going to hell, would he allow to get in his way.

_ Those four men had to pay!_

_ They killed his sweet little angel, Tia!_

_So he believed._

He knocked quietly on the peeling red painted door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Within a few minutes he heard a guardedly low voice.

"What do you want?" the voice asked.

Devin answered, "I want to do some business."

"Who sent you?" ask the voice.

Devin answered, "Collin, Collin Reed."

Collin, who had been a fellow heroin addict to Tia, had divulged as much information as he could to Devin under the pressure of guilt, but for a price, which he would then use to buy more drugs.

The door creaked slightly open!

_CRASH!_

Devin kicked the door off its hinges, which, inadvertently, struck his greeter in the head, rendering him unconscious. He entered the small living room!

_ Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! _

Three shots fired (the red dot swept across its targets)! It happened so quickly, that the three men did not see it coming!

Juan, Tommy, and Jake were the first to fall! They were sitting around a square metal table, topped with small fire arms, and bundles of money, while they bagged dope, Juan bought it in the head, he died immediately. As for Jake and Tommy, they bought it in the chest.

After undoing the three men sitting at the table, he immediately walked back to where he had left the fourth man, who had remained unconscious on the floor with the door still on top of him.

He began to stir around, to come out of his state of unconsciousness. Darrel opened his eyes, and at that very moment, he was shot, point blank, in the head; his eyes remained opened, but he was dead.

Tommy and Jake were slow to die. They got to witness real hate in action as they were on the floor spewing blood from their chest and mouths.

_ They got to witness the stabbing hate towards the hearts of their two dope dealing partners until it was their turn!_

Devin unveiled his knife, and one by one, first Darrel, then Juan, he distinctively, and precisely stabbed in the direction of their hearts. Then it was Jake's turn, and lastly, Tommy.

As Devin sunk the knife deeper in, their eyes became white, enlarged with fear, and disbelief! They tried to scream! With the exception of a few gurgling moans, no words or utterance would leave their mouths, which was filled with nothing but blood.

Tommy, who felt the ripping pain of the dagger stabbing and stabbing until his heart was finally ripped out of his chest, received the full force of Devin's hate, since he was the leader of this gang! He was the one who lured his Tia into a life of drugs, with promises of love and protection.

_Their suffering came to an abrupt end_!

Devin had methodically and calmly carried out his painful mission without uttering one word; he was fixed on his mission, and satisfied his rage, though it could not bring back Tia.

Slathered with blood, knife tucked back in his ankle strap, and the extracted heart dripping with Tommy's blood, he walked calmly out of the house, leaving the empty _glock_ in a pool of blood.

Devin turned around, picked up the door, leaving stains of blood, leaned it against the trim that surrounded the opening of the door, turned around, walked back to his car, which had been parked right in front of the home, opened the trunk, and placed the heart in a plastic bag with the bloodied gloves, got in car, and drove away calmly, resolved, as though nothing had happened.

He drove for almost one hour to the Long Island cemetery where his baby girl had been laid to rest. Before he reached her grave, he stopped the car somewhere inside the cemetery, and got out, looked around, although he was not expecting any living persons to be around. But still, he was cautious.

Devin opened the rear passenger door on the driver's side, and removed a plastic bag, which had another set of black sweat like clothing―top and bottom.

He stripped himself of the bloody clothing. Then, he removed the clean clothes from the bag, and put them on. After which, he placed the bloody clothing into the plastic bag, and placed it back in the car.

Devin got back into his car, and drove slowly to a spot near Tia's grave. There he sat quietly in his car, mournfully, trying to justify, convince, or give reason as to why he had to kill the four men, and why he had to extract the heart of his victim.

He got out of his car, opened the trunk, and removed the heart, and a shovel, and walked a short distance to his daughter's grave, where he dug a deep enough hole, and buried the heart of his murderous victim.

"For you Angel. Now, you can rest in peace. And always know that Daddy loves you, always!" cried Devin, stretched out, hugging Tia's grave.

Almost one hour later, he made the drive back to Brooklyn, and drove down Flatbush Avenue with less rage and contempt in his heart, though he still felt a deep level of hatred for his victims. _That hatred was what he had become._

The traffic light turned red; he stopped. A couple on the opposite side of the street rolled down their window, prompting Devin to do the same. A man fair skin, young, asked for directions.

"Excuse me sir, can you tell us how to get to Dorchester Avenue?" the man asked.

"Sure," said Devin with a smile. "Just continue down the road for three more blocks, pass two traffic lights, and make a right. That will be Dorchester Avenue," he said, as he smiled politely.

"Thank You," the man said, and continued to drive.

Feeling emaciated, and hungry, Devin decided that he would stop at the twenty-four hour Greek Diner that stood on the corner just past the traffic light.

He checked himself for blood splatters in his rear view mirror, stepped out of the car, and headed for the silvery, antique looking trailer car diner.

He seated himself calmly, and with confidence. A small woman dressed in black―appeared to be at least in her seventies, with a slight bend in her back, leaning forward―approached his table.

"How _ya_ doing?" she asked. With out waiting for a response she asked, "What can I get _ya_ tonight?"

Devin smiled gently at the old woman, while his hands intertwined, rested firmly on the table.

"How about a cup of coffee?" he asked.

The old waitress scribbled down the order.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Yea, two scrambled eggs with bacon, and an order of French toast."

"Wow, we're really hungry tonight!" the woman said teasingly.

Devin smiled and said, "Yea, I'm starving. I have had a long night."

"By the way, I'm Grace," the woman said, as she finished scribbling the order. "I'll bring out your order in just a few minutes."

"Great!" Devin replied.

That night Devin ate with the feeling of contentment, and success, and without fear. He relished every morsel of food. And when he was done, he got back in his car, and drove home without the worried anticipation for his future, or his life.

**TWENTY-SIX**

**T**he moles had been fullyembedded. They slept in cardboard boxes, ate cat food, dressed in whatever clothing they could find, and pushed around old, rusting shopping carts.

Once a week, usually on a Wednesday, several people from the community center would go into the homeless communities―they knew exactly where to find them―and invite them to the center for a hot meal, even a bath and some clean clothes, a sermon.

It seemed innocent on the surface: Just a few good hearted people offering their help, their compassion. They were trusted by most.

The center had become a sanctuary for many of the homeless. Had it not been for them, especially during the winter months―offering hot meals, blankets, coats, hats, gloves―many of the homeless would have, most likely, died.

The community center (a small, simple, white building) had a special isolated room called the Sanctuary Room. Only, special sermons were given in that room. It was where some would go to pray to the One. Though, the One did not mean the same for all.

Several months had gone by. There had not been a sighting for sometime. Eric and his team of investigators thought that they were wasting their time and money. And the moles were becoming impatient, cold, and tired of eating cat food. They were ready to come in. According to them, the people at the community center were Angels; they too had grown to trust them.

Some were invited to what they called "The feast of The Moon," held on the first night of the full moon. It was to be a midnight feast, and the night of the baptism; Sanchez and Anderson had decided to stick it out for one more day.

According to them, a table had been set elaborately with a plethora of food: roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, fruits, salad and more. It was a welcomed change from the cat food, which they had succumbed themselves to.

After the feast was over, those who had wished to be baptized were told to enter the sanctuary. The doors were shut and secured from the outside after all ten baptismal candidates had entered the room, including Sanchez and Anderson. They could hear the heavy chain being bolted on the doors.

The communion bread and wine were offered to each candidate by faithful servants as a man dressed in a white, hooded robe approached the white marbled altar:

_Our faithful servants of the One, we gather here today, on this blessed day, when the moon is full, to enter into this covenant with the One. Welcome my brothers and sisters; welcome to this auspicious occasion, where only wealth and happiness will follow you for the rest of your days. Where you will no longer have to worry about your purpose for living, because you will know your purpose; you will know who you are!_

This promise of wealth and happiness for the rest of their days excited all of the candidates, except Sanchez and Anderson. They knew that something wasn't right―the sound of heavy chains being bolted on the doors still lingered in their minds.

"Please, raise your glasses and repeat after me: I will make way for the one," asked the high priest.

The candidates repeated the mantra.

"Now drink," he ordered. "Place the bread in your mouths and feast on his blessings."

They did as they were told. The room was quiet and solemn, and, an oneness was shared.

"Follow us to the baptismal room. This is where you will be asked to make a final commitment to serve him; you must choose." said the priest.

The group of ten was guided to a room below the building, underground, in what appeared to be an old subway station. The candidates appeared to be in a euphoric stage, like they no longer knew what was happening to them, seemingly, from the effects of the wine and bread.

However, Sanchez and Anderson, feeling nervous about what was happening, did not drink the wine, nor did they eat the bread, although, as to protect themselves from being found out, they copied the behavior of the others.

There were several chairs unfolded. They seemed to be separated on two sides, with a center isle leading to a man dressed in a long white, hooded robe, and a gold medallion hanging from a gold chain around his neck, sitting on what appeared to be an old engineer's chair plucked from a subway car; he stared silently. There were others as well who had begun to chant in a low, solemn voice: make way for the One.

To some, the One meant he who was good and pure of heart.

And to others, the One meant he who was evil, and sought to harvest evil and spread it like an aggressive weed throughout the Earth.

However, during the sermons, the distinction was never made. It was left for the night of the baptism, when each soul would be given the choice: The choice to choose good or evil.

The priest stood at the top of the isle and asked the candidates to choose, before the drug had taken its full affect, which would render the candidates completely incoherent:

_To be with the One, you must choose him. You must promise to forsake all that is good and pure. You must promise to go out in to the world, while you prosper, and spread the word of his offering if you will pledge your soul to him and him alone! If you can not promise this, then you will be banished from this covenant, for you have chosen to follow good, which will only bring you poverty, and weakness. _

_Those who will stand with us, this covenant, sit in the chairs to the left, if not, then, you have chosen the right! Make your choice._

The chanting intensified! Sanchez and Anderson called in for back-up. The chanting became louder, faster!

_Make way for the one;_

_Make way for the one;_

_MAKE WAY FOR THE ONE;_

_MAKEWAYFORTHEONE;_

_MAKEWAYFORTHEONE_.

The choices were made: The candidates on the right had chosen Good, for they worshiped only God, the only God, who is the One!

"You have chosen," said the priest, as he signaled a few followers wearing white robes to bind the hands of the candidates on the right. The euphoria had begun to wear off of some of the candidates―it was thought that their bodies were more resistant to the drugs given.

They became aware of their situation. Fear was in their eyes, as they fought to release their bound hands, while some others laughed in joyful madness, completely un-aware of their coming doom. The daggers were drawn; the robed chanters encircled the flock of good. And the blood-fest began.

**TWENTY-SEVEN**

_**A **__**HORRIFIC FIND**_

**T**_he wind whispers softly in the deep of night, disturbing the fine grains of dust and ash on the surface of a once flourishing earth, now parched and cracked with remnants of chard plants, of animals, and of human flesh. _

_Only a few good souls have survived: they walk the earth, lost and bemused in the thick of once was and is no more, trying to find their way home, trying to find their love ones―mothers, daughters, sons. Their blood burns as it rushes to the reality of the mere existence of life, even as evil celebrates its rise to power and a coveted victory. The light has been turned to darkness everlasting―so it may, or may not be. _

_Above them, behind the varied grays and black of the swiftly moving clouds, lamenting a great loss, the light of the dying moon, now stained in blood, and the once bright stars could be seen trying to find a way through. But that is not to be. _

_A nefarious storm of fire, wind, water and quake summoned by humanities voracious appetites for earthly euphoria, weakened minds, hearts and souls, filled with pride, envy, lust, wrath, and greed has consumed the earth. _

_**The earth is fit for the harvest.**_

_The thundering hoofs of more than two hundred thousand horses, mounted with the Warriors of Light, dressed in armor of gold, echoes as they swiftly, through a cloud of dust, with desperate urgency, gallop across the earth. _

_And at their helm stands Seraph―hair of glimmering silver, skin brilliantly bronzed. He is dressed plainly in a white sheeted robe. And in his right hand, he holds the Horn of Justice, which, by the mere sound of it, could drive his enemies to madness. _

_At his right flank is his most trusted general Ashana, whose hair is long and woolen, streaked with white and silver. Her skin flickers in the dark as she glides across the land with the Sword of Retribution_ _held firmly in her right hand: it lights the way and spears the truth in the soul of man. _

"_Come, let us ride through the night till we meet our enemy again," she shouts. "Let us move swiftly and unyielding through them until they are no more!"_

"_Yes, let us ride! Let us claim what is ours and restore the earth to goodness!" says Seraph._

_Bane, with long, grayish white hair and meandering, deep, cavernous lines running through his face lead his nefarious army, the Kenites, swiftly into battle, with the confidence of assured victory. _

"_Victory will be ours. I can smell its sweet aroma! I can taste its spoils! Let us annihilate them into the void of darkness! Come, let us ride unyieldingly and fierce!" he shouts to the Kenites as they sprint across the earth, relishing in all the destruction and darkness that they have put upon the land._

_And so, from every corner of the earth they ride: the Warriors of Light from the north and the south, and the Kenites from the east and the west, until they meet again, crushing, slashing fearlessly,_ _each fighting desperately to annihilate the other, where the victor will claim the earth and start a new._

one A. M….The phone rang, bringing Eric out of the dream that seemed to be consigned for him by someone or something.He picked up the receiver―Eric could still hear the beating of the battle drums in his head, and the spirited galloping of horses as they raced towards the enemy. Larson (A night duty officer) was on the other end.

"Hey Jonas, you got to get over to the community center on Court Street! Our people called it in; it's going down!" he said, with an urgency in his voice.

"What's the situation?"

"They called in a code thirty! That's all we know!"

"Ok, I'm on it! Have back-up meet us there!"

After disconnecting the call with the officer, Eric immediately contacted the rest of his team―needless to say, they weren't too happy about getting yanked out of their beds that late at night.

He feverishly got out of bed, turned on the light, threw on a pair of blue jeans, a brown long sleeved turtleneck, which happened to be on the floor at the foot of the bed, and a bulletproof vest (he didn't know what we would be walking into) as well as his side arms and black military boots.

As he rushed out of the apartment, Eric noticed Shelby, in their living room, sitting by the window in the dark staring quietly into the night. She had barely noticed that he had left the apartment.

When he arrived at the crime scene (his team were already there) the front doors were locked shut. Eric, Connolly and a few others made their way to the back of the building―clean, nothing seemed unusual―where there was a single metal door; Connolly kicked it in easily.

The team of officers stormed the building like fire ants, searching out every nook for the helpless.

"Hey, Eric!" called Burk. "Check this door out!"

They broke the shackles on the sanctuary door with an ax. And when they entered, the room was quiet and airy, with several empty communion glasses set on its altar.

"Something isn't right!" Eric said, while looking around the empty room for something, anything! "Something is missing! We're missing something!"

"Hey!" yelled Smith. "Come over here."

There were a set of stairs behind a wall, which was behind the altar which led to the underground lair of evil. They reached a heavy metal door. It was shut. However, Connolly used an ax to force it open.

As they walked cautiously farther down the stairs and made their approach, screams were heard, a terror which sent a cold, horrifying sensation all through Eric's body, and the others as well.

They had entered through the gateway of hell, where the condemned were being tortured over and over! When the men reached the bottom, they saw victims who were being viciously attacked, fighting desperately for their lives, including Sanchez and Anderson: They fought heroically, as they watched the innocent bleed and scream in horror.

With their guns drawn Eric and the other officers joined in the fight! He ordered the robed attackers to halt. However, they had been possessed by a powerful force, and refused to stop. In fact, a few of them ran swiftly towards the officers, screaming, with white, wild eyes of madness and dagger in hand.

_Bang! Bang!_

The bullets pierced their flesh and they were dead―it was like a scene out of a horror movie.

For the others who had continued with their assault on the innocent, the officers were forced to put away their weapons and instead fight the old fashioned way, with fist and legs, since they did not want to accidently shoot the innocent―the innocent and evil were entangled.

Shortly after, the terrifying screams had stopped. Although, those, who were suffering, from their wounds cried painfully. And the wicked followers, who were not killed, had begun to chant their mantra. They had been possessed by their own evil ambitions.

Burk, Connolly, and Eric took a detour. They wanted to be sure that they had not missed anything or anyone.

"Hey, that's odd!" said Connolly, bringing their attention to a continuous vertical outline on the concrete wall in a dark alcove, just as they were about to call it an all clear.

All three men ran their hands over the outline that seemed more like a neat crack, pushing, trying to get their fingers, their hands between.

The wall slid into a pocket in the wall, and exposed the dark, airy room; it was an actual crematory. According to the records, the building was once a funeral home before it became a Community Center; it was the perfect location for the _Kenites, _which was what they had called themselves_._ Seemingly, it was used to dispose of the victims bodies very conveniently.

The community center was filled with Crime Scene Investigators, who had collected as much evidence as possible―daggers, fingerprints, blood samples, and even the ashes from the crematory.

Several members of the covenant, mostly young, were arrested and taken in to police custody, even as they continued to chant their mantra with a feverish madness.

After detail questioning of the suspects, the police team was able to get a few confessions of the murders which took place, and the bloody writings in exchange for lesser charges. The case was solved, except for the fact that the leader who called himself Cain was never captured.

For one reason or another, no matter how generous their offers were, none of his followers would give any information about Cain's whereabouts, or even what he looked like; they knew only his name: They would have rather died than give him up.

However, the case was not completely closed. To do that, they needed to find the leader. Nevertheless, the residents of Brooklyn were able to breathe a sigh of relief on that day. And Eric, as the lead detective in the case, along with the other officers were hailed as heroes.

Still, Eric was bothered by one thing. Why kill the ministers? It should have been obvious to the _Kenites_ that they would have chosen God.

The only answer with which Eric could come up with that made any kind of sense is just simply that they were men whom had devoted their lives to God, and they made it their business to spread the good word; they were the enemy, and therefore a target.

**TWENTY-EIGHT**

**A**fter the gruelingyear plus long investigation of the Kenite Killings, the Captain thought it best that his lead detectives on that case take a break once the case reports were filed. After all, it was Eric's team which had broken the case; it was _their baby_.

It would be months before the prosecution would have their cases ready to be tried in the people's court for all twenty-five _Kenite_ members― six were shot dead on the night of the raid. Of which, they, Eric and his team, would be called to give their testimonies; they had some time.

_Everyone deserves at least one week away from their own private rat hole._

Eric thought that it would be a great opportunity for he and Shelby to take some time away, maybe go camping for a couple of days up in the mountains, to regroup, or put some joy back into their marriage.

It seemed like, as the years progressed, they had drifted further and further apart from each other. Eric realized that it was mostly because of him, his job, and the stress. He wanted to make it up to Shelby in some way.

The Captain had given the ok to take one week off. Eric was thrilled, actually relieved, almost as if he had the world lifted off his shoulders!

_Yes. It's an old cliché, but the fact is, that was exactly how he felt: free, though temporary._

"Shel! I've got some great news!" Eric said excitedly, after he had entered the apartment.

There she was, stretched out on their green sofa, staring up at the white ceiling. He got closer, "Shel, I have a week off! I was thinking that maybe we can go camping! You know, like we used to! What do you think?"

"What! To make it easier for you to kill me!" "So that you can push me off a cliff, and say that it was an accident! No thanks," she said with a cross look on her face.

"Shel, come on! You know that I wouldn't do that to you!"

"No! I don't."

"Shel all I want to do is to take my wife on a vacation! Most wives would show some appreciation!"

"And most husbands wouldn't hit their wives until they bled!" she said.

"What do you want me to do?" Eric yelled, feeling hurt, and rejected. "I've already apologized over and over! I said I was sorry! You know what? You're an ungrateful bitch! Damn it! I should have known better!" he yelled, as he grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the apartment, leaving Shelby with angry tears, which had begun to stream down her cheeks.

**TWENTY-NINE**

_**Drunk Men Bonding**_

**H**ethought aboutdriving into New York City. However, Eric quickly changed his mind, since he had planned on doing some damage to him-self with alcohol to celebrate his week long of freedom. Somehow, he had ended up at Lou's Tavern, which was just around the corner―he frequented the _watering hole_.

"Hey Eric!" said Lou, owner of the Tavern, as he approached the bar and sat down on the black leather bar stool. "What brings you in here so early?"

"Well, I'm on vacation."

"Oh! For how long?"

"Just a week."

"Hey, at least it's time off man…." "I wish I could take some time off."

"Yea," Eric said, while looking down at the deep, chocolate brown, highly varnished, wooden bar counter.

"Hey, why so grim?" asked Lou, as he meticulously wiped the inside of beer mugs with a white cloth.

"Oh! I'm just tired. That's all," Eric responded, trying to hide the fact that he was feeling grim.

"Well, I've got just the right thing that will put some juice back into you!" Lou said, as he began to top a mug with his house beer. "On the house," he said, dropping the overflowing mug in front of Eric.

"Hey, thanks man."

"Anytime Eric! Anytime!"

Eric sat for a while, drinking, thinking about Shelby, and the way she had acted earlier. He had not realized that things had gotten so badly; she really did not trust him. A part of her had actually believed that he would try to kill her.

Eric had never wanted to instill so much fear in her, but apparently, that was exactly what he had done: made his wife despise him to the point where she was completely afraid of him.

He sat at the bar for about an hour. A man came in and sat on the stool next to him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You look familiar. I've seen you somewhere before." he said, with a precarious look on his face.

Eric looked at him in silence, waiting for him to figure out where he had seen him.

"Oh, oh, I know!" he said, pointing his finger at Eric. "You were on television, like in the background during a press conference about them killings!"

"You mean the "The kenite murders."

"Yes! That's right! You were one of the Cops trying to solve the case!" he said excitedly, with a satisfactory look on his face.

At that point, Lou came over. "Hey Peter, you giving my boy Eric a hard time?" he asked, jokingly.

"No Lou…I was just telling him that I've seen him on television!"

"Yea! You and all of Brooklyn. Don't you know that Eric here is a local celebrity?

"I was just doing my job. That's all," Eric said, trying to hold back the actual pride he felt.

"Hell of a job, I'll say!" said Peter. "By the way, let me introduce myself," he said, as he stuck his right hand out for Eric to shake. "Peter Klein."

"Eric Jonas." "Nice to meet you."

"Ok _fellas_, now that we have been formerly introduced," said Lou jokingly. "What are you drinking Peter?"

"_Gime_ anything!"

"How about a cold one?"

"Perfect," answered Peter.

"So what line of work are you in?" Eric asked Peter while Lou tapped his beer.

"Welding…." he answered. "Been doing it for about twenty-five years now; wouldn't think of doing anything else."

"Me neither man." "I was born to be a cop! I love the adrenalin rush, even when some bad ass punk is shooting at me. My wife on the other hand, hates the fact that I'm a cop."

"I don't worry about what my wife thinks, not as long as I'm putting food on the table and keeping a roof over her head," said Peter. "Got any kids?"

"No man. Haven't gotten there yet," Eric answered. "But I hope to get there one day."

"I never wanted kids; I didn't want extra mouths to feed. My wife, when we were younger, used to pester me about having kids, but I didn't want _none_."

"Eric! How about another?" asked Lou from the other side of the bar, after he dropped the mug of beer in front of Peter.

"Well," Eric said, trying to decide if he should go home to Shel, or get wasted.

"Come on Eric. You deserve it!" said Peter, trying to coax him on.

After dropping another mug of beer in front of Eric, "To Eric everybody!" said Lou, signaling everyone to raise their glasses and mugs to honor him with a toast.

The ice cold beer flowed smoothly down his throat, sending a satisfying sensation throughout his body, which he did not want to end.

After a few hours of emptying the brewery, something whispered in his mind that it was time to go home.

"Hey Eric! Let me call you a cab, Hah!" suggested Lou, watching him stumble his way out of the Tavern.

"Lou, it's ok man! I live just around the corner! You know that."

His memory of what happened after he had gotten completely drunk was mostly fogged, but he couldn't forget those eyes.

As he stumbled his way home, barely able to carry his own weight, he bumped into a man.

"Watch where you're going, you drunken piece of crap!" the man yelled as he held Eric up in his arms, looking at him with eyes that looked possessed, almost as if they had belonged to someone else other than him. And then, he practically threw him, nearly causing Eric to hit the ground, but he didn't. Instead, he was able to gain his balance, and stumbled his way home.

**THIRTY**

_**SHELBY GIVES IN**_

**I**t was about threein the afternoon. Eric had not gone home. That would not have been unusual, except for the fact that her mind and body had been riddled with guilt for what Shelby had said to him earlier.

Most of what she wanted was, to believe that he had been sincere about wanting to take them on a camping trip just for a great time.

However, she felt uneasy and frightful for her safety. She had been completely bewildered, and wasn't sure if she should take the chance, or protect herself from more harm.

For most of the day, she thought about going one way, and then reversing to the other. The crazed look in his eyes plagued her mind whenever he would go off on one of his tantrums, slapping, hitting, choking, and killing her spirit.

Sometimes she felt like he would really kill her, like she was at the end of her life.

And then, there were the days when he did nothing but love her, crying, apologizing, making peace offerings with red roses and chocolates. Shelby loved those days. They were what she hung on to; they were what kept her alive, and what kept their marriage going.

_What should I do? She asked herself. She did not know!_

Shelby stood over the simmering pot of soup, stirring slowly, thinking about her life, her future―if there was one―when she heard a failed attempt to open the entry door with a bunch of keys; they fell twice. She looked at the clock; it was five P.M…. And Eric had finally made his way home.

The door had been pushed forcefully opened, sending the cold rush of fear spiraling through her body, causing her to quickly thrust the wooden spoon on to the counter, sending tiny spatters of hot soup onto her face.

She turned to face the drunken invader. Eric stood in the doorway, barely hanging on to the bunch of keys, swaying, unable to steady himself. His eyes seemed to blink in slow motion, while his skin (a drunken red) glistened from the heat of liquor.

The bunch of keys crashed to the ground. And just as he was about to fall, Shelby rushed over and held him up as best as she could, holding her breath at times, trying to prevent herself from succumbing to the noxious smell of alcohol, which exuded from every pore on his body.

They stumbled their way―sometimes, almost falling―to the bedroom, where Eric had fallen onto the bed, face down. After turning him unto his side, for fear that he may vomit, and possibly choke, had he been on his back, Shelby covered him with a warm blanket.

She did not leave the room right away. For some reason Shelby wanted to sit by Eric. As she sat there, looking down at him, visions of when they were first married filled her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. _They were happy then._

Eric was wonderful then, and they were good to each other.

_What happened to two people who were so in love? Where did we go wrong? She wondered._

Eric slept hardthrough the night―Shelby spent the night on the sofa, sometimes asleep, and sometimes kept awake by the very deep, loud snores which echoed through their apartment.

It was around eleven A.M…. the next morning when he woke, a luxury, since under normal circumstances, he would have been out by at least seven.

He dragged himself out to the kitchen, where she had been preparing lunch―ham and cheese sandwiches, with the chicken soup, which had been prepared the day before.

"My head!" Eric complained with both his hands holding it.

"Feels like someone is constantly hitting it with a hammer," he said.

"Maybe some lunch would help," Shelby suggested.

Eric pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table.

"What happened yesterday?" "I don't remember anything!" he said, while massaging his forehead with his fingers.

"Well, you came home drunk! Really drunk! So I helped you to bed, and you slept through the night," Shelby said while placing the lunch in front of him.

Almost immediately after he had begun to eat, Eric held his stomach and began to hurl all the contents of his stomach onto the kitchen floor just as Shelby was about to bite into her ham sandwich.

She immediately pushed herself away from the table, and rushed over to him, holding his shoulders from the back.

"Shit! I'm really fucked up!" he said, with wet eyes, seemingly from the force of regurgitation.

"Maybe you should go back to bed."

"That may not be a bad idea," he said, as he made an attempt to stand, almost losing his balance. However, with all her strength, she steadied him. Being careful not to step in the mess which was on the floor, they made their way back to the bedroom, where she helped Eric get back into bed slowly.

After making sure that he was comfortable, with a warm blanket over him and a small wastebasket on the floor next to him, just in case he needed it, Shelby made her way back to the kitchen, grabbed a stack of paper towel sheets, and immediately began to clean the mess from the floor, trying very hard not to succumb to it.

It had already been two in the afternoon. Eric was still asleep, and Shelby had decided to heat the soup, and take it to him, hoping that it would help him to feel better. She placed the warm cup of soup on the small nightstand next to their bed and woke him.

"Eric." "I think that you should get something in your stomach. I brought you a cup of soup to slowly sip on."

He slowly turned onto his back, and scooted himself up into a sitting position, leaning his back against the bed headboard and pillows.

"What time is it?" he asked as Shelby handed him the cup.

"It's a little after two."

He held the cup to his lips, and began to sip slowly.

"Oh, that felt so good."

"You must be feeling better."

"Much better. Much better."

Just as she was about to leave the room, Eric asked, "What about going camping?"

Shelby turned around and faced him, looking intently into his eyes, and at that moment, she said, "If you feel up to it, and promise not to hurt me, then I guess it would be great to get away for a couple of days."

"All right! That's my girl," he said, smiling from cheek to cheek."

Shelby didn't know what had come over her. Maybe she felt sorry for him, or maybe she was just too weak to refuse him. Whatever the reason, she had made a final decision.

**THIRTY-ONE**

_**THE CAMPING TRIP**_

**T**hey arrived on the banksof the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, both were dressed in blue jeans, cotton checked shirts (Eric's was blue, Shelby's was pink) thick hiking boots, and warm parkas.

The morning was crisp; the sky was a clear cottony blue, with towering trees peppered with an abundance of gold, orange, brown, and red leaves dancing to the rhythm of the natural world, scraping against it.

Eric and Shelby had already unloaded the gear: The two person tent, sleeping bags and blankets, a cast iron pot, pan, kettle, some firewood, matches, all the things that were needed to camp. They were fully prepared.

The first chore at hand was to set up the camp. Eric and Shelby laid the tent out, and at each corner, they drove stakes into the ground. It all had been going perfectly well, except for the fact that she was unable to drive the last stake into the ground.

Eric, however, rushed to her aid. He got behind her, and placed one hand over hers, and the other on the stake, holding it in place as they hammered together until the stake had been secured into the ground.

As he did that, helped her hammer in the stake, she felt like maybe things were beginning to change for the better. That maybe, just maybe, she was getting her husband back, because under normal circumstances, he would have disparaged her in some way for not being able to hammer in the stake. So, it gave her some hope when he did not.

However, after the hammering was done, he asked, "Do I have to help you with everything?" and walked away, immediately bringing her back to their life in Brooklyn.

Shelby pretended not to have heard him. Because in spite of the fact that Eric salted the beginning of something that could have been wonderful, she refused to let him take away the euphoric sensations that traveled through her as a result of being out, coexisting with the natural surroundings of the woods, the rushing river, and the white plumes created as the water hit the rocks. She refused to let him spoil her peace of mind, which she had been yearning for, for so very long.

"So, I think that we should go for a hike," Eric suggested, as he stood directly in front of Shelby with both his hands on his hip.

"Ok," she said quickly, trying not to cause any conflict. She really just wanted to sit quietly by the river for a while, listening to the water, the birds, as they flew from one tree to the next, the squirrels foraging for nuts; she just wanted to listen to the sounds of nature.

They grabbed the hiking gear: Backpack filled with snacks, toilet paper, and so on, water, flashlight, and a first-aid kit.

"Let's go," said Eric.

They headed south. Actually, he headed south, and she followed behind. Both walked in silence. In truth, the silence had become awkward, almost as if they had not known each other, like they were two strangers crossing paths, with Shelby being the woman, who was trying to get away from a strange man.

However, she did not allow that awkward silence to steal her quiet peace. It was perfect. Meandering through the woods was perfect. Breathing the cool, clean air had been perfectly intoxicating for her.

The thought of Eric hurting her, or possibly causing her death, still lingered in the back of her mind. It made her cautious. So cautious, that she made it a point to walk behind him, always keeping him in clear sight.

They walked for about thirty minutes.

"I need a snack. Let's stop for a minute," said Eric.

They sat on a boulder, which had been surrounded with a carpet of rotting weeds and twigs. But it was a perfect dining area.

The canopy of tall trees had provided a dimmer effect, which should have been romantic, especially since they had the area all to themselves. However, the romance was absent.

The couple ate quietly. And after they were done, Shelby gathered the wrappings from the granola bars and cheese sandwiches, and placed them in her backpack.

"Let's walk a little further," said Eric.

"Ok."

Just as she had earlier, Shelby took her place behind Eric, cautiously watching, with sharpened claws and pointed teeth, waiting to defend myself.

"It is so beautiful out here," he said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yes. It is," Shelby responded.

_Then there was silence._

As they walked deeper into the woods, the sound of the river rushing by called her.

"Eric. Can we walk over to the river? I just want to sit on its bank for a while."

"It's only water. Nothing to do over there. Be patient! We'll be fishing for our dinner soon enough," he answered with a commanding voice.

She did not challenge him. Again, she refused to allow him to salt her peace with nature. They walked for a while longer before returning to the camp site.

After they unloaded the hiking gear, Eric stocked wood in the pit, and started a fire, while Shelby grabbed the already seasoned steaks, a can of baked beans, and already baked cornbreads.

Since they had planned on being there for at least three days, the steaks were the first to be eaten in order to prevent spoilage. They had planned on catching their dinner the other two days.

The fire blazed, turning the wood into black charcoal; it was perfect for cooking. Eric sat by the fire on a small boulder, while Shelby placed the black, heavy cast iron skillet on the metal rack above the burning wood.

The pot began to smoke, letting her know that it was ready for the steaks to be put in. She placed them in, and they began to sizzle right away, permeating the woods with the smells of smoky, chard beef, flavored with onion and garlic; it was divine.

The steaks had been seared on one side; it was time to flip to the other. As she began to flip the steaks, the hot oil sizzled wildly, sending splatters of grease on to Eric's Face. He immediately sprung off the boulder like he had suddenly been bitten by a ferocious animal!

"Are you fucking crazy!" he asked. "What are you trying to do!" he yelled, as he rushed over to her, grabbing her hair and then proceeded to push her head down into the hot skillet.

Shelby fought him with every ounce of strength, scratching and clawing, biting and spitting. She screamed for someone to help her, but there was no one around.

She grabbed his hands and sunk her nails in, as deeply as possible, forcing him to let go. And ran breathlessly, thinking about surviving, hoping that someone would come to her rescue.

However, there was no rescue. She wandered through the woods for hours, feeling hungry, emaciated. The evening sun had begun to disappear.

She heard the hoo-hooing of the night owl, the howling of the coyote, and the rushing crackling of leaves, and twigs being broken, as something, or someone came rushing, moving in closer and closer towards her. Shelby became frozen with fear. Her mind told her to run, but her body had been too heavy to move.

And then, she saw it. She saw the monster, a beast with red glowing eyes, and sharp teeth, growling and hissing. The thought of death had entered her mind that night.

And just as it raised its fangs to consume her, she heard a voice.

"Shel! Shelby, where are you?" he called out. "Shel, I'm sorry! I promise, I won't hurt you! Please answer me!"

But, she felt confused and afraid. However, she was forced to weigh her options:

_Stay in the woods, I could die from hypothermia, starvation, or be eaten; call out to Eric, I could be killed, or he could really be sorry, and want to make it up to me._

She chose the latter: she took the chance on her husband.

"Eric! I'm over here!" she called out.

"Shel, are you all right?" he asked, with panic in his voice.

"Yes!" she said, crying, shaking from the cold that had begun to sink into her bones.

"Shel, stay where you are. Just keep talking, loudly and I'll find you!"

"Ok!" she said, trying to think of what to talk about. "Do you remember the first time we went camping?" she asked.

"Yes! It was so romantic! We spent practically the entire camping trip inside the tent!" he said, as his voice reached closer to her. "I can see you now Shel! Just stay there."

Shelby stood silently, leaned up against a tall oak tree, with her arms wrapped snuggly around herself. The woods had become dark, airy, and ghost like. She wanted to escape.

"Shel! I'm here!" said Eric, as he ran towards her, enfolding her into his arms. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that! I'm so sorry Shel!"

She wanted to say that it was ok, but it wasn't ok. They have had so many episodes where Eric would hit her, and then apologize, expecting her to automatically forgive him and forget about everything. But, that was very hard to do.

"Can we please go home?" she asked.

"Sure. Anything you want Shel. Anything."

When they got back to the camp site, they loaded the car as quickly as possible, leaving the burnt steaks in the skillet, and began the two hour ride back to Brooklyn.

**THIRTY-TWO**

_**THE WELDER**_

**T**he world was histo bend and twist as he saw fit. Except, his world was small—consisting of Mary, his wife, a few whores, and iron. Peter Klein hid behind his protective mask made of steel and glass, as he had done for many years, welding iron and steel. He felt powerful and in control.

This power, however, gradually changed him, bending him out of form: From a young man who loved and respected his wife, to a middle aged man who had become somewhat of a demon, blinding him from the evil which has buried itself deep within his mind, deep within his wife as well.

His power to command had so inflated his mind that, he sought to bring misery and suffering to Mary and had done so for many years, striking fear into her being, bending her to his will. But as he struck fear into her, he had not realized that he was also succeeding at making her hate, resentment and evil, stronger than he could ever had imagined. He thought that he had been in control of all that existed around him. However, he was wrong. It was evil that was in control of him, bending and twisting him to its will.

It was six in the evening. The matzo-ball soup had been steeped and ready to be eaten, along with a stew of lamb smothered in thick gravy. The table had been set with thick white linen napkins. The white doily had been laid perfectly in its center. The glasses, clear, and perfectly clean, had been placed upside down as to prevent dust from entering them. The small apartment in Brooklyn, immaculate, dustless, had everything in its place, and nothing out of place, nothing that was visible.

Mary waited patiently on the worn, overstuffed sofa, which had been adorned with flowers of many colors, yellows, blues, white and orange. Thoughts of violence, and fear hovered throughout her mind. Thoughts of evil lingered in the hidden places of her mind.

The jingling of keys ran a cold sensation up her spine and into her head, causing a sense of being unaware, lost and numb. For a brief moment, time stood still. Peter entered the apartment. He saw Mary, where she always was when he walked through the door, sitting with a nervous smile, waiting to bend, to yield to his every need.

"I'm starving!" "I hope supper is ready," he said, as he walked over to the recliner, which matched the sofa. He threw himself down, and immediately began to remove his heavy work boots.

"I'll fix you a plate," said Mary, as she rushed over to the small kitchen to dish up a bowl of warm soup, and stew.

Peter sat down to the immaculate table, and immediately began to shovel the soup, and then the stew, interchangeably, into his mouth before Mary had a chance to seat her-self.

"This food is cold!" he said, as he continued to shovel it into his mouth.

However, Mary did not respond, as she finally took her place at the eating table, since she had left a small, warming flame underneath the pots.

She did not eat much. Her body was frail looking, skin and bones mostly, with cheek bones drawn in, and eyes sunken.

"Pass me a beer." ordered Peter, as he continued to shovel his food.

The phone rang. Mary rose from the table, breaking the cold, hard, tension, which filled the room. She answered the phone.

"Hello," she said.

"Can I speak to Peter?" asked the voice on the other end. Mary assumed it to be the voice of a woman.

"Who is this?" Mary asked.

"None of your fucking business," replied the woman.

"Who's on the phone?" asked Peter, while he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

"What do you want with my husband?" asked Mary.

Peter got up from the table, rushed over to Mary, and grabbed the phone from her hand, leaving Mary to feel as though her heart had been broken into many pieces, and her stomach had fallen from beneath her.

A part of her hated Peter for the way he treated her. However, there was the part of her that still held on to the first two years of their marriage, when everything was fresh, and new, and their love was at its pinnacle. During that time, Peter had never lifted a hand in anger to her. He had never even said a mean word to her. She had no idea what had changed, or what changed him.

She devoted her entire adult life to him, just him, since they had decided not to have children―at least Peter decided not to have children.

She chose to stay at home, giving up her dreams to become an architect. The only remnants of her lost dreams were the plethora of rough sketches and drawings of imagined skyscrapers, and homes, perhaps one that she would some day live in, which lined the walls of their apartment: The faint sketch of a little girl, a toddler, with golden brown hair, deep brown eyes and an angel's smile. They were what kept her sane, her dreams of maybe one day.

She would sit for hours, looking at imaginary blue prints, picking out paint colors, flooring, changing diapers in the custom design nursery, teaching her daughter to swim and listening to her tiny laughter. She stood on the wooden deck sipping ice tea, while watching Peter cut the grass. But none of it came to fruition.

She lived the life she wished for, except, it was all in her head. The older she became, the fainter her dreams became, until they had completely disappeared into nothingness.

Gradually, as the years flew by, Peter seemed to slip away from her too, slip away from their love. That evening, however, on that cold October evening, their love had completely perished.

_ The beast had been awoken!_

"Yea, soon! Get ready," said Peter to the woman on the phone.

Mary was unable to hear the entire conversation, but her imagination ran wild.

"Who is that on the phone? Her voice quivered. Who is that woman?" she asked, while she stood by, tensed with her imagination wild and crazed.

Her questions fell on deaf ears.

"I'll be there soon," said Peter to the woman. He hung up the phone.

"Who was that woman!" screamed Mary, with eyes wide and piercing.

"Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch!" he yelled. "You had better mind yourself!"

"Are you sleeping around on me?" asked Mary, realizing that she had been a fool for all those years.

"What's it to you what I do? I'm a man, I can do whatever I feel like!" he yelled.

"I am your wife, and I deserve some respect!" answered Mary.

_Bam! Boom! Crash_!

Mary was picked up and thrown on to the small, wooden dining table, and on top of the half eaten food! When she landed, food and plates landed on the floor, her hair wet with soup, pieces of matzo-ball, and meat were all meshed together in the strands. She felt as though she had crashed into a moving vehicle.

"You bastard!" she screamed, with tears of hate flowing down her cheeks.

While he pinned her arms down with both his hands, Peter asked, "Who the fuck do you think you are? I will kill you bitch! You hear me! I will kill you! Look at you, you disgust me!"

He released his hands, rushed towards the reclining chair where he had taken off his work boots, and slid his feet in to the boots. He rushed towards the door and left the apartment, leaving Mary on the table quivering with pain and tears. He showed no remorse, not even an inkling of regret for the woman that he had once loved, or at least had claimed to love.

For twenty-seven years, Mary had suffered by his abusive hands and words. Each time twisting her nerves, bending her out of form, so much so, that she felt helpless and unable to say, or do anything in her own defense.

She, instead, would make excuses for him: It was my fault; he was just tired; he is under a lot of stress.

However, on that cold October evening, the sleeping monster had been awoken; a memory that had been buried for so many years had suddenly been unearthed.

As a child, Mary suffered physical abuse at the hands of her father. He had a horrid disdain for Mary, whom had reminded him so much of his own abusive mother. With each petrifying assault of his thick leather belt, or hands, he (Mary's father) would see his mother's hateful face beating him down to a place of worthlessness; it wasn't Mary whom he had been punishing, but, instead, it had been his mother.

Each time, however, Mary saw a crazed monster, wide, white eyed, with fiercely gritted teeth, grinding, as though they had been preparing to consume her; he had been possessed by an evil so vile that she feared for her life. She feared that her father would one day kill her. And she lived with this fear for most of her childhood. She had become accustomed to living with fear. It was a part of her; for her, it was normal.

However, on that October evening, that fear had triggered something hidden away in the dark recesses of her mind. This memory of her father attacked her mind violently. So much so that, she could hear her father's malevolent voice; she could see his evil eyes, but worst of all, she could feel the sting of his belt, lashing, lashing, beating her into a state of uselessness, a state of submission to his evil desires.

That evening, the day after the precipitous phone call from the presumptuous female, Peter had returned from his most dishonorable visit with his mistress. Mary had been asleep in their bedroom.

_So he believed! _

She lay silently, on her bed with her eyes closed and the small white pamphlet with "The Way of The Kenites" written in bold red letters on the front of it. It was given to her by an older woman whom had knocked on her door offering a smile, a kind face, and happiness.

There was a dark voice in her mind, taunting her, bating her to kill, to kill Peter, to kill her father, to erase all the suffering; it offered her stillness and happiness.

Images of Peter committing acts of adultery, laughing, frolicking, drinking, mocking her, danced around, hardened her already hardened heart against him. All of her sensibilities had left her. Her mind had been completely possessed.

Peter flung himself down onto the sofa, worn, taking deep, penetrating breaths. He sat there for a while, as he took comfort in the quiet calm and the solid control, which he had over Mary.

_He was confident that he had it all_.

He removed several pieces of clothing―leaving just his white tank top, loose underpants imprinted with tiny little construction vehicles and black socks, which were pulled up to his knees―and threw them on to the floor, as Mary would be expected to remove them later, which was what he had become accustomed to.

The hissing warmth of the old iron radiator permeated the small apartment, while he remained stretched out completely to the length of the sofa with the television remote in hand.

He flicked on the television and tuned into a football game. He could not have imagined that his end was so very near. He could not have imagined that Mary stood behind him with an angry, crazed look, while she held in her hand a very sharp, pointed dagger type knife, with murderous intent in her eyes. There he was, laughing, yelling at the Quarter Back who fell short of making the touch down,

"You idiot! You fumbled the ball!" he yelled.

The hot radiator continued to hiss; the crowd cheered as the Quarter Back had finally made his touch down. Mary, seething, and enraged with evil thoughts, and confusion, sprang from her deep, dark lair. With a hard thrust filled with driven purpose and intent pierced the dagger into his throat, ending twenty-five years of suffering.

_She had put the monster back in the ground._

**THIRTY-THREE**

_**BACK FROM VACATION**_

**I**t was hardly a vacation.The days seemed to coast by, with most of them being spent at Lou's Tavern. After what happened on the camping trip, Eric was dying to get back to work.

He left their apartment at about six A.M…., leaving Shelby still asleep in their bed. It was around six-twenty when Eric had arrived at the precinct.

Captain Callahan was already in, eating his bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, and drinking black coffee at his desk.

"Hey! Eric! You're back!" yelling across the room, with food jammed into the corner of his mouth.

"What's up Cap?" he asked, yelling back across the room, as he walked over to his desk.

"How was your vacation?" "I called one day to make sure that you were taking it easy, and Shel said that the both of you went camping."

"Yea! We had a great time! It was just the two of us where we were!"

"I bet you did," said the Captain, with a mischievous grin on his face.

"So Cap, bring me up to date. Anything new happening with our cult case?" Eric asked, trying to change the subject quickly.

"Well, as you know, it'll take a while for the prosecution to make their cases solid. I'll probably be retired by then, or maybe dead and gone," said Cap with an un-assured expression on his face.

"I doubt that it will take that long," Eric said, with a faint smile.

While the Captain and Eric were talking, Smith and Gordon walked in.

"Hey! Look who is back!" yelled Gordon from across the room.

"Hey guys! What's up?"

A few minutes later, Connolly walked in as well.

"Hey! You're back!" he yelled from across the room.

"Excuse me Cap," Eric said, as he made my way across the room to talk to the other men.

"I don't know Jonas, but since the day you left, it's been pretty boring around here," said Connolly. "Other than a few traffic stops, and reporters coming around to harass us for information on the cult killings, nothing much happened at all."

"Sorry guys!" Eric said laughing. "At least you had a break! Hah!"

"I guess your right," said Gordon.

"Well, excuse me guys," Eric said, looking at the stack of folders, and papers on his desk. "But I got to go check out the stuff that's on my desk."

However, before he could reach his desk, a call came in. There was a brawl at Lou's Tavern, and it had been reported that shots were fired, and that there was a hostage situation. This was too close to home.

They quickly suited up! The adrenalin rush had swiftly moved throughout Eric's body. He was on fire, and eager to get to Lou's. Eric and the rest of his unit rushed out of the precinct, followed by many others.

His heart was heavy with fear. Lou had always been a good friend. After he found out that Eric was a Cop, he never allowed him to pay for anything, although Eric had always insisted on paying many times; it had always become a battle of who could stare the hardest, or who could better convince the other.

He prayed all the way―sirens flashing, black car racing, dodging and weaving between traffic, trying not to kill crossing pedestrians, hoping that Lou was all right.

When they arrived, a crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk, as well as the street in front of Lou's place. They broke up the crowd for their own safety, although there were still some stubborn ones whose curiosity had been unyielding; they were left to their own fate.

A short while later the crime scene was taped off. And the hostage negotiator was called in. Shortly after his arrival, Browning accessed the situation and went to work.

"My name is Officer Browning! I am here to help you resolve this matter peacefully! I want to help you! I need you to call this number (555-0000). It is a direct line to me! Please let me help you!" he said, as he spoke into a red bullhorn.

All units were securely planted behind car doors and walls. And there were a couple of sharp shooters strategically placed where the windows were in plain site.

Browning's cell-phone rang.

"Hello," he answered.

"Is this Officer Browning?" asked a male voice.

"Yes. This is Officer Browning." "Who is this?"

"This is Lou, the owner."

"Lou can you tell me what the situation is?" asked Browning, listening to another voice of a man in the background telling Lou to hurry up, and make it quick.

"A woman's been shot; she's real bad! This guy says."

"You mean the gunman?" asked Browning.

"Yes. He says that he will allow a paramedic to come in and take her out."

That was a good sign; it showed that they had a chance of negotiating with the gunman. That maybe he could be persuaded to give up peacefully. Eric felt hopeful for Lou's safety.

"Lou, I want you to hang in there. Is there anyone else hurt?"

"No! Just that one lady."

"Ok! That's enough! Put the phone down," ordered the gunman.

The paramedics were already on standby and situated in a safe location.

Browning spoke into the bull-horn, "The paramedics are ready to enter. There will be two of them, and they will be unarmed! If you do not want them to enter, please call me! I will wait two minutes!"

However, what the gunman did not know was that one of the paramedics was really a Police Officer, who had been given the order to access the situation once inside.

Browning's phone however, did not ring.

"The paramedics are on their way," said Browning.

The men entered the Tavern, while the teams of officers waited with pins and needles in their spines. After about ten minutes, the paramedic exited the Tavern with the wounded woman, who by then was unconscious. She was rushed off to the nearest hospital almost immediately.

The undercover officer reported that the gunman appeared to be at least five-feet, five inches, about in his fifties or so and kind of stocky. He had positioned himself behind the bar, and away from the windows, and he held a small pistol in his hands. He appeared to be shaking nervously. Lou the owner was sitting on the stool directly across from the gun man, while five other customers―two women, and three men, not including Lou―were seated on the other bar stools.

After about ten minutes, "Ok, thank you for that!" "By the way, it's only fair that I know your name. After all, you know mine," said Browning through his bull-horn.

Two hours had gone bybefore Browning's phone had finally rung. He answered.

"My name is Stratford Williams," said the man.

The beads of sweat rolled off his skin and into his eyes, causing them to burn. His body trembled with fear: Fear of losing his life; fear of never going home, where he lived with his beautiful wife of ten years, Charlotte, his two children Andrew and Amy, and his dog shag.

Stratford sat in the corner of the room. His head leaned upwards against the white wall, with the phone pinned closely to his ear. He held the gun loosely in one hand, and supported it with the other hand.

"Stratford! Great! How are you feeling?" asked Browning.

"Like crap!" answered Stratford. "How is that woman?"

"They think she'll make it!"

"Great! I'm glad!" said Stratford. "I never wanted this to happen!"

"Stratford, I can help you! Just give me the word."

"It's too late! No one can help me now."

"Stratford, that's not true!" said Browning, trying to convince him to give himself up peacefully.

"No one can help me now," said Stratford. And then, he disconnected the call.

Stratford remained in his corner with his knees curled up underneath both hands to lend him more support for his trembling fingers. His eyes burned with salty tears, after spending almost one hour pouring out his heart and soul to his captives. Deep down, he felt that the end was near; he had fallen victim to the underlying truth of this economic catastrophe.

Like many others, he knew what it felt like to lose the home which he and his family sort refuge in for so many years. He knew what it felt like to not be able to put his key in his own front door, and be greeted with the cheerful eyes of his family.

He knew what it felt like to not be able to wake up in the morning to the smell of fresh brewing coffee emerging from his own kitchen. He knew the pain of loss; he knew the truth.

Stratford looked deeply into their eyes, Lou's, and the other's, as they sat at the bar carefully observing his every move.

The silence in the room intensified as the fear became stifling among all the hostages. The air was thick with uncertainty.

_Will it happen now; is he going to kill us now, they wondered_.

With his lips quivering, Stratford mumbled, "I am so sorry. Please forgive me."

He began to cry uncontrollably.

"I don't know how it got this far. I don't know how this happened. Not too long ago, my life was almost perfect. I had a great job: a house, a nice car, and just like that, it all disappeared."

Stratford laid the gun on to the floor. He leaned sideways against the wall with his knees curled up underneath him.

"I am so tired, tired of running," he cried.

He placed a hand in his pant pocket, where he felt the small white pamphlet with "The Way of The kenites" written boldly in red on the cover. The tears turned into a momentary glimmer of joy and calmness as he talked about his family―Charlotte and the two kids.

"Charlotte, so beautiful, with her long flowing brown hair and eyes to match, she and I were great together. We were like soul mates, you know," he said, with a slight grin.

Stratford turned his attention to Lou.

"Are you married?" he asked.

Lou did not answer. Words could not escape his lips, for they were shut closed with fear, perhaps, never to be opened again.

The thought of dashing over to grab the revolver that was resting idly on the floor next to his captor consumed his mind. He would be the hero, if he was successful. Then again, if he failed, it could mean his death.

With a staunch look on his face; the look of hatred and evil, Stratford picked up the gun quickly―ready to commit the unforgivable act. He stood up from his safe place and walked swiftly over to Lou. The rage befitting a vicious animal that was ready to consume its prey overcame him. He thrust the tip of the revolver against his forehead, yelling,

"I asked you a question! Are you married?

Lou's eyes glistened with fear.

"No," he answered quietly, hoping that it was the right answer.

Stratford turned his back away from Lou, trying to return to his corner in the room. Lou saw it as a chance to try and get the gun away from him. However, Stratford felt Lou's presents, and turned around and shot him dead. The other hostages panicked and screamed in terror.

"Shut up! Shut up!" "You see what you made me do?" he yelled at Lou's corps. "You didn't learn anything when I shot that bitch that would not let me have my beer in peace!"

The gun-shot was heard by all the units outside the Tavern. They knew that they had to act quickly! They knew that this standoff would probably not end in a good way.

"Please make Lou be ok! Please!" Eric prayed to himself, as he stood frozen, and focused on grabbing the opportunity to take down the gunman.

_Stratford returned to his safe place,____where he continued his soulful ranting:_

_I used to be a senior manager for one of the largest_ _companies on Wall Street―one hundred and fifty thousand a year. Man, it was great! We had a house on Pine Street in Westchester, New York―beautiful house. It had four bedrooms, and a gourmet kitchen. My wife loves to cook, especially on Sundays―shrimp parmesan day. _

_But it all came to an end! I went in to work, it was a Friday. Joe, my boss, called me into his office. He asked me to sit down. I thought that we were going to have one of our regular meetings about the day to day operations in the company. But no! Instead!_

He smashed the gun against his forehead.

_Instead, he told me that they have to let me go! I could not believe what I was hearing. Ten years! Ten years! For what! They let me go just like that! That pot belly fool! I should_ _have ripped that damn mop he called hair off his head! Bastard! _

_Oh! His explanation was, they did not meet the quotas that_ _they needed, and so, they had to let some people go. I remember how I felt that day. I was terrified, dismayed; I felt as if my life had ended! I mean, what was I going to do! _

_After I made a stop at the local bar, threw a few back, I went home―earlier than usual. My wife asked me why I was home so early, I could not bring myself to tell her the truth. Charlotte did not handle stress very well. She would have fallen apart. _

_I told her that I was feeling a little under the weather. I figured that I could buy myself some time, and that I would have no problems finding a new job, soon. _

_Was I wrong! I looked for months, but no one wanted to hire a fifty year old man and pay him one hundred and fifty thousand a year when they could easily hire a young college graduate for a lot less. _

_To hell with experience, and devotion! No! They want kids so that they can twist and shape them into any form they wish to!_ _To hell with them! You here me! To hell with them!_

With his head nestled between his knees, Stratford wailed to the point of breathlessness, overcome with grief; then there was calmness. The hostages looked at each other. They felt sorry for the poor man who kept them in captivity. But, they also despised him for killing Lou, and possibly the woman whom he had shot earlier. They did not know what to do or say; the room was filled with an airy silence.

A loud laughter suddenly broke the silence; then a quiet whimper:

_I miss my kids, Andrew and little Amy, he said. I miss their little faces, especially Amy's; she is four years old, going on twenty. She looks a lot like her mother, except her piercing blue eyes that could see through your soul. _

_Andrew, my big boy, twelve, practically a man, he's a quiet little guy. He only speaks when he has to. Ooh! They grew so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday that I was chasing them around the house with shag chasing behind me―that little mutt._

_Then, a staunch rage consumed him. The features in his face_ _became more defined; the blue, black veins were more prominent; the white of his eyes were no longer white, they were more red, and his lips seemed to tighten, while his skin glistened with the sweat of fear. _

_They took everything away from me!" he said. They took my home; my family; they took my life! They came one day and took_ _everything! _

_Amy begged them not to take her home! She said, _

" '_please Mr. don't take my muffie bear'" She pleaded with the Sheriff as she cried hysterically! My wife cried hysterically! She could not believe that this was happening to us. _

_Andrew, he always tried to be tough, a man―no tears. He stood there quietly and watched them take our lives apart, bit by bit. But, I could see the pain in his eyes. _

_I begged them to give me some time. I knew that if given_ _more time, I could have come up with the mortgage payments. I could have found another job soon. Just a little more time! _

_But, they were in such a hurry to destroy my life, my family._ _Who did they think they were? Why? Why?_

Tears flowed rapidly down his face.

_My babies! My babies! Please forgive me! _

Stratford lost focus, and had inadvertently placed himself in the line of fire. He had not seen it coming! A bullet pierced his head, killing him before he had a chance to finish his final word, "I'm _sor_―"

**THIRTY-FOUR**

_**GUILT**_

**L**ou was dead!And there was nothing that Eric could do about it. Half the police force and SWAT were just outside of Lou's Tavern, and they did nothing to save his life.

_We just allowed that asshole to kill him! We should have stormed the building sooner! We had our chance when we sent the undercover in with the paramedic to retrieve the first victim! Why didn't we do that? I owed it to Lou! Thought Eric._

Since Shelby and Eric had moved into the neighborhood, Lou's place was the only place he went to, to get away from the rest of his life.

He went there for more than just drinks. He went there for companionship, an ear, and a temporary escape from reality.

It was the place where the guys and Eric had often hooked up to watch a fight or the Super Bowl. Lou was always there for them.

He and his team were only there for back-up.

"Eric, I think that you should stay out of this one," said the

Captain, with a commanding voice, as Eric stood over Lou's body, trying to fight back tears. "We just need to tie up some loose ends, then this case will be closed; we already got our killer," he said.

He was right. There wasn't much to do. But, had it been possible to kill that man over again, Eric would have done it.

The other hostages were taken by ambulance to the area hospital for observation. And Lou was taken to the hospital morgue, where he would be held in cold storage until he was to be laid to rest six-feet in the ground.

Eric and some of the other officers took it on themselves to make sure that whatever monies were in Lou's cash register, his safe, would be taken into police custody for safe keeping; they didn't want to risk having looters take advantage of the situation.

Also, they had made sure that the tavern was boarded up

securely―the doors, the windows.

Lou had no other family to speak of, at least, out of all the years that Eric had known him, he had never once spoken about a wife, a child, a mother, father; no one. And after a few days, no one came forward to claim his body.

It was left up to Eric and a few other officers to make sure that Lou had a proper burial; he would have done that for any of them. That was just the kind of man he was.

_Rest in peace Lou_.

**THIRTY-FIVE**

_**THE BROKEN CUP**_

**S**hebegged for it to stop!But it continued. The nightmare of being lost in the woods, cold, starving, shaking with fear, had consumed her.

She heard the hoo-hooing of the night owl, the howling of the coyote, and the rushing crackling of leaves, and twigs being broken, as something, or someone came rushing, moving in closer and closer towards her. Shelby became frozen with fear. Her mind told her to run, but her body had been too heavy to move.

And then, she saw it. She saw the monster, a beast with red glowing eyes, and sharp teeth, growling and hissing.

And just as it raised its fangs to consume her, she woke up with a cold sweat, shaking, looking around, and making sure that it had been just a dream!

It had not been the first time. This nightmare had been reoccurring, starting with the night that they had returned from their infamous camping trip.

She just wanted it to stop! Shelby didn't know what to do; She was desperate. Hidden behind the sofa was the only answer that would free me.

It was about ten P.M….The clanging of his keys and the sudden glare of light snapped her back to reality! She had immediately sat up, a surge of fear rushed through her head, but she steadied herself.

Shelby threw the pills back behind the sofa with the others. And used her hands to quickly smooth back her ragged hair, then, hurdled off the sofa, and scurried towards the kitchen.

Not realizing that the shiny, pink, patent leather slippers that Eric had bought the year before for her thirty fifth birthday, and that, he insisted she wear until he bought her another, laid in front of her like a stormy petrel that had been waiting for the opportunity to cause mishap, to cause more grief. She tripped over them, and fell to the floor, breaking her fall with the palms of her shaking hands!

"Damn it…stupid!" She quietly cried out.

Her rebound had been quick and spontaneous as she jumped to her feet, with her breath quick and uneven, and head spinning in a whirlwind of fear! Shelby's heart beat hastily, with every beat threatening to expel it violently from her breast!

She recaptured herself, though fleeting and temporary, and rushed to fill Eric's cup with his favorite _Joe―French Roast_; the coffee had been made several hours earlier, and was left to keep warm.

"Hi babe!" he said, with a gleam in his eyes as he came over and kissed her forehead, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and whisky overwhelmed her senses. Strangely enough for her, it felt good to feel the touch of his lips against her body, so tenderly. "Here, these are for you!" he said.

"Wow!" They're beautiful, she said, as she lamented the twelve red roses that were laid to rest in her arms. They reminded her of the good times when Eric had been trying to woe her; they made her feel special and loved.

However, the good feelings had quickly become decomposed and chilling. The red roses became stained with blood and hate!

"Thank you!" she said anyway, trying to muster up the appearance of joy in her eyes. "I thought that you would have been home earlier?" The gleam in his eyes disappeared suddenly; he did not answer. It was as if the question had never been asked, or, that she had no right to ask it.

"So, what did you do today?" Eric asked, as he sat down at the kitchen table to have his coffee; she sat next to him on a wooden chair that had seen many years.

"Well, you know, the usual. I did some cleaning, laundry, as well as ironed a few of your clothes," Shelby said, with her hands rested, not calmly, on the table, while she fiddled away with her fingers.

"How was your day? Did you do anything special today?" she asked, trying to give the appearance that she really cared.

_Empty conversation, is what it was. Eric did not answer._

"What the?"

"_Nooo_!" she cried. She pleaded with him!

Shelby felt the gripping pain of her hair being pulled away from her scalp, strand by strand, each representing years past, and years to come, with the painful intent of suffering.

The sonic boom, the sound of the coffee cup engraved with "Detective of the year" crashing down on the table, sent a chilling blast through every nerve of her being! It was as though she had been immediately transported from a cold, lighted room, into a dark, but even colder room!

"How many times do I have to tell you not to serve me cold coffee? This taste like crap! I spent all morning burying my friend Lou, and I come home to this!" He yelled, as he maliciously tugged at her long brown hair.

He stood up, leaned over her, his hot breath had been stifling and offensive. The white of his eyes were jarring, and evoked the clarity of madness!

"I'm sorry!" she said weepingly, while her body quivered with fear and the intensity of shocking pain.

"Yea! You're sorry! I'm tired of coming home every night to this crap!"

A sudden rush of bravery overwhelmed her. A strong force, a compelling will that pulled at every muscle in Shelby's body, bade her to fight back.

"You bastard! Let go of my hair!" she demanded.

He pulled even harder; she screamed! Shelby grabbed his wrist with both of her hands, and sunk her long fingernails into his harsh flesh!

"Damn it!" he yelled out. "You crazy bitch…!"

With in a few seconds, she felt her hair, followed by her body being dragged over to the counter. With the weight of his body, Eric pinned her against the ridged, white, laminated counter!

The hair pulling soon then turned into face slapping! He pressed his left arm firmly into her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe, and with the other, he slapped left, and then right! Shelby braced her-self with both hands against the counter, while he continued to strike her face.

She grabbed his hand tightly with all her strength, with both her hands, but she was unable to free his grip; his mind had been possessed by some evil.

_All of that, over a cup of coffee!_

Shelby felt the nagging urge to push him away with all her strength, pick up the broken coffee cup, thrust it into his heart, and twist it around until he cried out for mercy. She wanted him to feel the _paaain_ that he so often gave her; she wanted him to suffer.

_Something held her back. _

She held back, fully knowing that it would have been only to her detriment; he would have killed her! By then, she had been too weak in mind and bodily strength, too weak to fight the evil that had such a strong hold on her husband.

Had she been successful in killing him, then, evil would have won.

_Two equally evil acts cannot make things right or good. _

She gave in, just as she always had.

"I'm sorry! It won't happen again, I promise!"

"You're right! It won't happen again, because if it does! _Maaan_, I can't tell you what I'll do to you!" he said, with one hand balled up into a fist, as if he had been getting ready to plunge it into her face. He stopped! And instead, he plunged it into the wood cabinet that was set above the counter!

Eric had let go of her chest; he looked at his wife for a brief second: Shelby saw tears before he turned away. As he passed the table, he abruptly plunged his fist into it, and kicked the chair which stood in his way, way across the room!

"Damn it!" he said, deep throatily.

"I'll make you a fresh cup!" Shelby offered, while trying to compose herself. She felt a wetness draining from her nose, and touched it; and when she looked upon her fingertip, she saw blood: blood that was taken away from her in such an evil, violent manner by the man whom had said he loved her.

_What then, if he hated her?_

"Forget it! I'm going to bed! I've had a rough day!" Eric said.

Overwhelmed with emotions, knees on the cold hard floor, and a flood of tears rushing down her cheeks, as she angrily cleaned up the spilled coffee and the broken cup, piece-by-piece, reminiscent of her broken life, piece by piece, she called on her friend melancholy and thought:

_How much longer should I endure this life, this bondage, this slavery by one who professes to love and honor me for the rest of my life? I feel betrayed and lied to. How could such a loving, kind, honest man, who treated me like his queen before we were married, become such a cold, angry, venomous person? _

_How could he treat me this way? Had I been wrong?____Had I been a fool to think that I could change him into the perfect husband?___

**THIRTY-SIX**

**I**t was about nine the next morning. When she woke, Eric had already left for work. The phone rang, waking her from the most beautiful, adrenalin-rushing dream.

She had been dreaming that Kat, her best friend before she became a married woman, and she had been impatiently trying to get to the top of the Appalachian Mountain in Pennsylvania. They sprinted up the mountain, not taking a moment to stop and catch their breath.

_We leaped over dead limbs and rocks that protruded from the earth. We searched our way through thickets, and weeds, bobbed, and weaved between tangles of wild Rhododendrons and slender young trees. _

_ I tripped over a rock, a boulder that raised its head just as I attempted to leap over it, and landing with my face smashed against the ground with wet, rotting leaves, the sweet aroma of decaying_ _leaves excited my senses. I got up, not taking the time to brush myself off, and resumed my hasty pursuit of the mountaintop. When we got there, I expanded my wings, which had suddenly sprung out of nothingness, and took off soaring like a bird, free and blissful._

_The fluttering sensations which took place in my stomach as I dipped, and turned, trying to avoid tree branches, and peaks that shot up out of the mountain, sent an exhilarating wave of both fear and triumph through my body._

_ The mountaintops became towering city buildings. The people, though they bared the likeness of large cockroaches that were bustling through the city streets, were diverse in so many ways. _

_There were the ones hanging on to briefcases as if their lives depended on it: Cloaked in trench coats, walking briskly, and mowing over anyone who stood in their way, rushing to join the rest of the penned up herd, as they waited to be slaughtered at evils gate by greed and unworldly ambitions. _

_ Then, there were the ladies in waiting who were dressed in towering, glittering heels, skinny jeans, or short skirts, and low-neck_ _blouses in the middle of fall, anxiously waiting to be brought to the slaughter by lust and ill-begotten gains. _

_ The old man with the aging beard, dressed in an old weathered, torn trench coat holding up a sign, "Please help me! I'm homeless!" overwhelmed me the most. I lowered my flight; we made eye contact. He thought that I was an angel sent to free him from misery,_ but I _was powerless. I was just a simple girl from Brooklyn._

_ I had only one thing to offer him, and that was hope. I wanted him to know that he could be free, if only he had the will to spread his wings and soar above the earth, leaving his misery behind. But first, he had to be willing to give up that which had such a strong hold on him, that which made him weak, and unable to flourish._

_ There was a family, a boy, and a girl, with their mother, living in a small tent that had been erected in a very dark alley. They sat silently, holding their stomachs, trying to calm the hunger, which tormented them. The mother looked at her children, crying, wishing_ _for things to be better, and hoping for a miracle. Still, I was powerless, and could only offer them hope. _

_ I flew over many cardboard huts; I could see blankets, a foot, a hand out stretched from those huts. I saw many, with dead to the world faces written with hopelessness, and defeat, saunter down the city streets. I tried to take away their misery too, but again, I could only offer them hope._

_ I passed a bird, a beautiful white dove, and then, suddenly, I found_ _myself fighting, fighting to avoid the hurried pursuit of a predator, a hawk that was once a beautiful, peaceful dove. _

_I flew left, and then right, dipping low, soaring high, hoping to out fly the hawk, but its pursuit had been relentless. It was as if it had been driven by some outward force that had a tremendous power_ _over everything and everyone that existed in the world._

_ The city buildings turned back in to mountains overflowing with towering trees. I hid under the cover of some of those trees, and tiny out shoots that protruded from the mountaintops, but each time, I had been discovered. _

_ I flew around in circles, hoping to confuse the predator hawk, but he was fast and steady. Finally, I became weary and hopeless. Therefore, I decided to give it what it wanted. Me! I slowed my wings, and allowed myself to soar with out trying to; I fell to the ground gracefully, and yielding. _

_The hawk, sure of its triumph over me, dashed down with the intent of consuming me, but instead, as he proudly protruded his massive talons, and readied his brawny beak, I dashed away, leaving him to become one with the earth._

"Hey, did I wake you?" asked Kat.

"No," Shelby said, as she tried to fight the weariness that seemed to consume her.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Nothing," answered Kat. "It's just that I have not heard from you in weeks. I was starting to get worried."

There was a sharp pain in her lower back, and her lips burned as she spoke; Shelby groaned with the discomfort of pain as she spoke with Kat.

"Don't worry. It's just that I have been so busy lately," Shelby said, trying to disguise her increasingly tense pain.

"Busy with what? You're home all day long."

Feeling small and unsuccessful, Shelby said, "Just because I don't go out to work, does not mean that I don't work, for your information."

"I'm sorry Shel. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, or make you upset." "It's just that I never get to see you anymore. Why?"

Shelby groaned quietly again.

"You don't sound too good Shel," Kat said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes Kat, I'm fine."

However, Shelby sensed that Kat did not believe her.

"What do you say we make plans to meet for lunch one day next week…?" she suggested. "I really want to see you, catch up with old times."

"No, I'm going to be busy."

"For months I have been trying to get you to meet with me, but each time you say no! I don't understand! I thought that we were friends! I guess we're not anymore."

"Kat, things are complicated. I can't explain, but I do miss you, a lot."

"Shel, is Eric hurting you?" she surprisingly asked.

"No, not at all!"

"So, what is it then? What is so complicated?"

She felt herself beginning to tear up.

"Kat, I just can't explain. I got to go."

Shelby hung up the phone before Kat had a chance to protest.

She just could not bring herself to tell Kat what was really happening, and have been for years.

The embarrassment and shame which she felt had been too great. Nevertheless, had she told Kat, she would have said, "I told you so." Those were words that Shelby did not want to hear, especially from Kat. Especially since, she had warned her several times before.

Kat used to say that she had a bad feeling about Eric, that he was hiding something. However, Shelby had been blinded by love: She had no idea what Kat was talking about, or how she even knew what she thought she knew.

Kat wouldn't have understood, anyway. Her idea about marriage was to leave when things got too tough. She was on her third marriage in eight years.

Shelby remembered her mother's words, "It takes time to make a marriage perfect. And even when you think it's perfect, it is but a vision of wishes. But, no matter what, a promise made before God should not be taken lightly."

Shelby wanted to believe her mother's words. However, how long should she wait for things to be perfect, or, at least tolerable? She asked herself.

Shelby remained in bed for a while, just looking up at the ceiling. She had begun to feel more uneasy. The pain had traveled from her back to the lower part of her stomach. The pain had become excruciatingly uncomfortable.

She curled into the fetal position, held her stomach, and begged for the pain to stop, but instead, it increased two fold. She cried out, hoping that someone would hear her; the nosey neighbors had eluded her this time.

The stain of blood had begun to soak through her white gown; she knew that she was in trouble. Shelby felt herself beginning to drift away slowly.

Almost knocking the phone off the small nightstand which stood next to her, she was able to grab a hold of the receiver, and call for an ambulance. Shelby managed to crawl out of bed, still holding her

Stomach, as the blood trickled down her legs.

Bent over like the _Hunch Back of Notre Damn, _head spinning, feeling as though she would collapse at any given moment, Shelby was able to make it to the front door, where she struggled to unlock it.

**THIRTY-SEVEN**

_**GUILTY EYES**_

**I**t was about nine a.m. the next morning.She woke up in a small white room, which seemed cloudy and covered with haze.

There were several tubes, hospital machinery, and the likes that were spread through out. Shelby had been covered from neck to toe with a yellowish, white, cotton blanket, which smelled like bleach and seawater mixed together.

Eric had been standing by her side, looking down at her with sorrowful eyes.

Feeling dazed and perplexed, she looked around nervously, wondering what had happened. The last thing that she remembered doing was unlocking the front door of her apartment, just before darkness fell before her.

"What happened to me?" she asked feeling helpless.

Just as Eric was about to give her an explanation, a very tall, blond hair, thin man wearing a white coat that stretched to his knees, thick glasses, and a stethoscope had entered the room; he smiled.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Livingston." "How are you feeling?" he asked, as he stood on the other side of Eric.

"Do you know what happened to me?" "I mean, I remember blood, and a very bad pain in my stomach! Maybe it was something that I ate, food poisoning maybe!"

"No Mrs. Jonas. You had a miscarriage! And you lost a lot of blood."

"A miscarriage! But how is that possible? I did not even know that I was pregnant!" Shelby said, looking at Eric.

She was in a state of shock, and from the look on Eric's face, Shelby saw that he was too as well. She could also see the guilt in his eyes.

_He may have killed our baby! She thought._

Shelby placed her hands on her belly, hoping that the Doctor had been mistaken. She sensed the life that once was, but was no more. It was unbelievable to her that she had been carrying a life inside of her and she did not know it.

The preoccupation with her own miserable life had circumvented everything else, even something as important as bringing a child into the world.

She had not noticed the changes in her body―the tender plumpness of her breast, the slight swelling of her belly, the tired, wary feeling.

"How far along was I?"

"From what we could tell, you were at least three months," said the Doctor.

"Oh no!" she said, holding her hands to her mouth, as she began to cry.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mrs. Jonas. If it's any consolation, you are healthy enough to try again later," he said. "By the way, we noticed some dark bruises on your back, as well as around your neck. Have you suffered any trauma recently?" he asked, looking at Eric suspiciously.

A tense silence filled the room.

"No! But, two days ago I accidentally backed up into a door; that may have caused the bruises."

"But, what about your neck? Where did those bruises come from?"

She stalled for a few seconds, trying to come up with something that would make sense.

"Mrs. Jonas?"

"Oh, I can't remember!"

"It's odd that you would not remember something hurting you enough to cause those bruises," said the doctor.

It was clear that Dr. Livingston found her explanation unbelievable.

"She said she does not remember!" Eric interjected nervously, with a steady gaze into the doctor's eyes.

"Well, Mrs. Jonas, you should be able to go home today, if that's what you prefer. I'll send in the nurse later on today to discharge you."

"Ok Doctor, that would be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked, this time taking her hand, and almost telepathically telling her that she needed to let him know if she was in danger.

"Yes Doctor, I'm sure." she said.

However, a part of her screamed out for help. She wanted someone to rescue her, a knight in shining armor. But, then again, that was only wishful thinking.

They waited for the Doctor to walk out of the room. Shelby laid her head back on to the pillow and stared at the stark white ceiling.

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault," Eric said, with tears welling up in his eyes.

A part of her wanted to look him in the eye and console him: Tell him that she knew that he did not mean to hurt her, or that she knew that he loved her, and would never have deliberately jeopardize the life of their baby. She wanted to tell him that she would forgive him.

However, the pain in her heart had been too overwhelming, and burning with fire and ice. For the moment, she hated him, and everything he was, and could not stand to look at him.

Eric stared intensely at Shelby, pleading for a positive response from her, but could not get, because her heart was heavy with resentment; Eric turned away from her. His body quivered as he wept for the loss of their child.

"We don't really know why we lost our baby. It could have been anything. We just have to trust that it happened for a good reason, and that our baby's soul is in a better place," Shelby said, not fully believing the words that escaped her mouth.

However, she had to convince herself that they had lost their child for any other reason, but for how Eric had been treating her; she had been really surprised that she had been able to become pregnant in the first place.

He turned around to face her. She could see in his eyes that he did not fully believe what she had just said either, but he tried to convince himself that it was true―that he could not have possibly had anything to do with the loss of their child. They both labored to put on a spurious smile, one trying to comfort the other.

Later on that evening, Shelby was released from the hospital. As she approached the curb in a wheelchair that was being pushed by a tall, skinny young candy striper, with freckles peppered on her face, Eric exited from his car with a bunch of red roses, which he placed in my arms.

"Thank you, I'll take over now," he told the young girl.

"They're beautiful," Shelby said, looking at the red roses that were laid to rest in her arms.

The blood stained roses reminded her of the loss which she had just suffered; they too were dead.

_She thought, If only things were different; if only our baby had been given a chance to grow, and to be born, I would have been holding a beautiful, bubbly baby in my arms instead. _

But, things were not different.

This was her life, and she had to go home with the man who may have killed their child―the man, who was her husband.

Eric held her armas he very gently helped her in to the car. A part of her wanted to run, and keep running until she was free of him. But something held her back.

She felt empty, like she had just lost her soul or her will to live. And, she felt as though she had nothing or no one to live for.

On the drive home, Shelby couldn't help but think about her parents and their disproportionate marriage, leaning more favorably towards her father.

As a child growing up**, **she was taught that a woman should know her place, and that she should honor, and obey her husband, no matter what; that, the man was the head of the house.

She witnessed her mother, Sara, go through some rough times with her father, Shane, because of that very obscure belief. He had a vodka problem, sometimes gin, and anything that he was able to find with even the smallest amount of alcohol. But, he was the head of the house, and therefore could what he wanted.

_Something was very wrong with that antiquated idea._

Shane would sometimes come home at all hours of the night. He did whatever he wanted, and Sara had mother never complained. Among many, there is one incident that seems to have enslaved Shelby's memory!

She was about ten years old. At the time, they were living in a small apartment in Downtown Brooklyn, just the three of them. Shane came home about two, or three in the morning. Shelby was woken up by the sound of her mother's tender voice, crying, begging for Shane not to hurt her.

Their room had been adjacent to her small, brightly painted orange room, with a brown, sheepish looking wool shag carpet. Her bed, twin, which sat on its own platform, had been tucked against the orange wall.

Shelby had been able to hear just about everything that transpired in her parent's bedroom, the walls were thin; sometimes she heard things that a girl of that age should not have. There were many arguments, which had involved other women, relative to her father; sometimes they argued about money, and Shane's frivolous spending of it.

_After all, he could, because he was a man, and the head of the house._

That night Shelby heard a loud thump against the wall, it was so loud that she thought that the walls would come crashing in, but it did not.

"No! Stop it!" her mother Screamed.

"Shut up! You will do as I ask you to do!" she heard her father say.

Sara moaned painfully! Shelby had been just a helpless child. She did not know what to do, or how to help her!

Nevertheless, she raced out of her room to attempt a rescue; the door was open, and Shelby found her mother pinned to the hard, dark, antiqued, wood floor by the weight of her father, like nails being hammered harshly into a piece of wood! Her white night gown had been torn from her shoulders. With one hand, he held her throat: She could see the impression that his fingers were making, and with the other hand, he struck her several times.

With her hands cupped over her ears, Shelby stood trembling in the door way, screaming at her father.

"Stop it Daddy!" she screamed, over and over again.

Her father quickly stood to his knees, stood upright, lunged over to her, and grabbed her clothes at her chest, tightly!

"Shut up, and go to your room! This is none of your business!" he yelled, throatily!

His face was red, his eyes, white, wild, and threatening! Shelby did not recognize him; that night, he had transformed into some sort of monster!

She looked at her mother, still lying helplessly on the floor, crying and struggling to breathe. She wiped the tears from her eyes, looked at Shelby, willing her, begging her to leave.

Shelby could see the shame and the embarrassment written all over her face, the bruises, and the blood that had begun to slowly leave her lips.

Reluctantly, Shelby went back to her room and locked the door, because she had not recognize the man in her mother's room, the man that she called Father; she was afraid.

Shelby crawled back into her bed, crying helplessly, pulled the blanket over her head, and remained very still, while listening intently.

Her parent's room had become very quiet. It was so quiet, that, for a moment, she thought that her mother was dead.

But then, she heard the bed violently pounding against the wall, and her mother crying still. She put her pillow to her ears, blocking everything out, and held on tightly to her snuggly brown bear, and before she knew it, it was morning.

Shelby dressed herself for school that morning, and went out to the kitchen for breakfast, just as she normally had. It was a very small eat-in kitchen. The walls were wallpapered with flowers of all colors. The yellow, laminate counter tops were worn and damaged. The floor had been covered with cracking, old laminate tiles that were stained with food. There was a small white, laminate, square table which stood on silvery, metal legs.

The memory of the night had been still vibrant and alive in her head. She could see her mother from the back, standing in front of the stove, cooking, and her father sitting at the table sipping on hot coffee.

She cautiously pulled out a chair and sat down; her father did not raise his head to make eye contact with her, nor did he say a word.

Her mother turned around, she held a black cast iron pot, which sizzled with eggs and bacon, in her hand. Her face looked like it had been marked with multicolored crayons of blues, black, purple, and red; her eyes were swollen; her lips were reddish blue and stained with dried blood!

If Shelby had not witnessed what had happened the night before, she would not have known that that woman, who had been cooking her breakfast, was her mother! Shelby sat there in repulsive silence, staring, gawking at misery, gawking at evil's handy-work.

Sara slid the eggs and bacon from the skillet on to the plate which sat in front of Shelby without making eye contact or saying a word to her daughter.

The room was awkwardly silent and unnatural. Shelby could see that her mother wanted to say something to her, but instead, the shame and humiliation spoke for her as her lips quivered!

She felt her mother's pain as she ate her eggs, which were usually delicious, but this time they left a raw and nauseating taste in her mouth.

She sat there with her head facing down towards the plate in front of her, quietly, for she could not stand to look at her father, and he could not look at me. Then, she saw her mother slowly and painfully limp away from the kitchen.

She too, had felt ashamed for her mother, and for what her father had done. Shelby was unable to fathom, or give reason for his sadistic attack on her mother: She believed that he loved her, she felt greatly betrayed.

An anger strong and vile―too much for a little girl―had captured her mind, her heart. Shelby looked at her father. But, he pretended not to notice. However, he could no longer resist her gape. He looked at her, still silent, but she could see the shame in his eyes.

His eyes were a light, bluish gray; they seemed cold and empty, sort of sad looking actually. He looked rough, and un-kept, with a graying, wiry beard and beer gut protruding out.

Her mother, on the other hand, a shapely, petite, beautiful woman, with golden brown hair, and deep brown eyes, was the total opposite. She did, however, have something in common with her husband: sad, empty eyes.

_They will, forever, be imprinted in Shelby's mind like a scar on her heart._

Shelby could see a veil of remorse, since the liquor had lost its potent affect; the effect had sometimes lingered for far too long. His eyes became glossy and wet; his face began to tremble.

_Maybe_ _he was afraid that she would see deep into his soul. _

He pulled his eyes away from hers; pushed himself away from the table, and got up hastily, shamefully, and exited the kitchen!

Surprisingly, Shane had never laid a hand on Shelby in such a vicious manner before that night. He did not offer hugs or kisses, but she would sometimes get a soft and cuddly toy, maybe candy at around Christmas time, a smile, or a tender look.

She had a sense that he loved her in some way, his own way, but was just unable to outright show, even though she was at such a young age; it was as though something stood in his way, blocking him from giving, or receiving love naturally.

_But, that's a story only he can tell._

Both Shelby's parents seemed to be void of happiness; they were in a very dark place, trapped forever, and without an escape route.

_I will never be like them; living in the dark of perpetual unhappiness! Shelby thought. But, she became just like them!_

**THIRTY-EIGHT**

_**THE FLYING BANSHEE**_

_**(THE FOLLOWING DAY)**_

**T**they got a call from a man; Smith took the call.

"You guys had better send someone down here! I can't breathe without taking in a nose full of something awful, something dead! It seems to be coming from the apartment next door! I am really worried; I haven't seen the folks that live there for a few days!" the man said.

"What's your name?" asked Smith.

The man hesitated for a moment.

"Klein, my name is Joe Klein," the man answered.

"Maybe they went on a vacation," Smith said.

"I doubt it! They would have said something, or at least ask me to keep an eye on their apartment!"

"What's the apartment number?"

"2c,'" said Mr. Klein.

"I tell you what, we'll come down and take a look!" said Smith.

"Hey Jonas, we just got a call about a strong smell coming from an apartment located downtown! This man, Klein, said that it smells like something died there!"

"Ah, It's probably just a busted refrigerator or something. But I guess we should check it out."

It was a beautiful October day, too beautiful for killing. Smith, Gordon, and Jonas got within a few feet of the apartment. They had been almost knocked off their feet by the immensely offensive rankness permeating the black and white checker floor hallway. Mr. Klein, a short, stout man, who looked like he had over indulged himself too many times, about sixty or so, met them by the red door of Apartment 2c.

Gordon knocked on the door a few times, all three men, with buried noses inside their jackets, grew impatient when there was no response. If it were not for the strong odor of death, they would have walked away, but the three detectives were compelled to investigate further.

"Step back," Eric said.

He kicked in the doorway to hell. Hell because, staring at them was a woman, petite and frail looking, with electrified gray hairs, and wild, white, bulging gray eyes; dried blood splatters on her face, wearing a yellow polyester blouse, while sitting on her blood stained flowery, orange sofa, with her obviously dead husband slumped over next to her, and a trail of coagulated blood that extended from his throat to his bulging belly.

His face seemed familiar to Eric. He inched his way just a little closer, so that he could get a better look, and sure enough, he had seen him before; his name was Peter Klein, the man, who he had met while at Lou's Tavern.

The memory of Eric and Peter, and some of the other men drinking, singing, talking about their lives, flashed through his mind.

From the looks of it, Peter had been dead for several days. His suffering had been evident; the pain of the protruding knife, which still hung from his throat, was scribed on his face. His eyes, fixated and wide opened, were glazed over with the reality of death, he had not seen evil coming.

They stood in the small dark room near the front doorway, guns cocked and ready to engage the enemy. There were several trays of old, uneaten TV dinners set on a small crate like coffee table that stood in front of the sofa. It seemed like the crazed woman had been offering food to her dead husband. There were clothes, shoes, and other items laid about the dark, wood floor in a disorderly fashion.

"I told you to stop! I told him to stop! I couldn't take it anymore!

He threw me on the table. He really hurt me! He's been hurting

me for so many years, twenty-five years! I couldn't take it

any longer! He has been cheating on me with some whore! That

bitch!"

She kept mumbling in a soft distressed voice while rocking back and forth in a nervous fashion.

"Get up with your hands behind your head." Eric demanded.

She kept mumbling, "He wouldn't stop! He wouldn't stop!"

She rocked _baack_ and _foourth, baack _and f_oourth_, while she stared at the detectives with focused, crazed eyes wild with hate, pain and evil: They looked like they could have burst at any given moment.

"What is your name?" Eric asked the woman in a soft, careful voice.

"Mary. Mary Klein," she answered with a quirky smile.

"Mary, I need you to get up and raise your hands above your head, slowly."

"Peter loved me once you know. It was sweet. We were so young; he was so handsome. He had beautiful golden brown hair; our daughter's hair would have been just like that. I would have named her Julia. Yes Julia. Peter would have loved that," said the woman, while she continued to sit next to her dead husband.

There was an airy silence: as if she was somewhere else.

"Mary, Mary, can you hear me; lovely Mary, come home Deary," she repeated three times.

Then suddenly, the woman bellowed a shrieking, _flying banshee scream_!

The little woman sprang off the sofa, and lunged at the three detectives.

_ Bang! Bang_!

Shots rang out, impulsively and swiftly!

_ The banshee wailed as she flew across the room!_

They shot her dead!

**THIRTY-NINE**

_**NO REST FOR A WEARY DETECTIVE**_

**E**_**(ONE WEEK LATER)**_

ric had just wrapped up the case of "_The Flying Banshee_."

Eleven years, October twenty-fourth, Shelby and Eric had been married; it was the day of their anniversary.

It was about two in the afternoon. The day had been so beautiful; the sun had been out stronger than usual for that time of year. It should have been a perfect day.

On the way home, he stopped by the local florist and picked up Shelby's favorite flowers―roses―some chocolates, and a card. He wanted to surprise her. He wanted to see her beautiful brown eyes sparkle in delight. He wanted to softly rest her head with her beautiful, long brown hair in his hands and kiss her sweet lips. He wanted to let her know that he was not a complete fool, and that, he still loved her.

She had been so good to him over the years, but Eric had not treated her well, at least the way she deserved to. Instead, he had allowed the evils of the world, his work, to guide him, make him into the monster that he had never wanted to be.

_He did not deserve to have her._

_It should have been a perfect day_.

As he drove through the busy streets of Brooklyn, dodging and weaving between fast and crazy yellow taxi cab drivers, pedestrians crossing in the middle of the streets as though they owned it, almost hitting a street vendor who happened to be pushing his cart across at the same time that his attention was had been drawn to the couple that were arguing aggressively on the sidewalk in front of a Caribbean market, which had a stand filled with a plethora of exotic fruits: mangoes, papayas, plantains, and some other fruits that he did not recognize, thoughts of Shelby's beautiful smile, when they first met, while hiking in the Appalachian Mountains filled his mind.

However, her beautiful face had been quickly replaced with the face of the banshee woman as she sprang off her sofa like a wild cougar that was eager to have them for lunch.

Her eyes haunted his mind. He kept seeing her white, crazed, bulging eyes and Peter with the bloody dagger hanging from his throat. Worst of all, the smell of the stale blood had been fixated in his nostrils; it nauseated him, making him feel as though he could hurl at any given moment.

Eric reached over with one hand and grabbed the bunch of red roses, which he had bought for Shelby; he held it close to his nose, and breathed in deeply the sweet sent, the sweet sent of Shelby; the roses brought him back to Shelby's beautiful smile, and everything was ok again.

Back at the police station, the switchboards lit up, one after the other. There were reports of a major street fight taking place on the corner of Flatbush Avenue.

_There are fights all time, Eric thought. _

Eric and his unit scrambled to their cruisers and made their way with speed and flashing lights. However, they believed that they would be there to break up, perhaps, a fistfight between a few half-wit kids.

However, that would prove not to be the case. As soon as they arrived at the scene, shots were heard. The officers quickly called for back up, as they cautiously exited their patrol cars.

Connolly and Eric secured themselves behind the door of the patrol car with their firearms cocked and ready to defend.

_Bang! Bang! _

Two shots were heard from the left of them.

_Bang, Bang, Bang_!

A volley of shots rapidly flew by them from the right.

"Crap!" "I'm hit!" Eric heard Burk cry out from behind the other squad car; He had taken one in the leg!

"Officer down! Officer down! Officer Request assistance," Eric called in on his radio.

With in a few minutes, back-up had arrived. It was as if they had fallen out of the sky, at least twenty cops! Seemingly, Unit 21had found themselves in the middle of a gang war: the C Street Lords against the A Street Posse. They were fighting over turf: Who gets to sell what, where, and to whom.

They had been aware of some gang activities with in the last few months, but nothing so vast. However, it all had come to a head. This was new territory for them.

As soon as the drug dealers were driven out of one neighborhood, they invaded another, causing death and destruction in their path, turning kids on to drugs and violence and young women and men into prostitutes.

Unit 21 were forced to reposition, otherwise, even with all of their mighty weapons, they were sitting ducks as the bullets were flying from all sides. In the midst of reorganizing, another officer went down; he took a bullet in the back.

About twenty minutes into it, SWAT was called in. The entire perimeter was corded off.

It seemed like they were in the middle of an urban war zone, where there could be no clear winner. But for the one hour, which seemed like an eternity, Unit 21 and the others gave a good fight.

They stormed the buildings, which were thought to be harboring the enemy. They chased the enemy combatants through back alleys, and back yards, some of which were landscaped beautifully with European style boxwoods, a variety of cold hardy roses, small, skeletal ornamental trees, and other plants. They rushed them from the back of old row homes and brownstones.

The intoxicating adrenalin rushed throughout Eric. There was no time for fear or second-guessing. If someone shot at him, he fired back at them.

He chased a boy and cornered him in a back alley; he looked no more than thirteen. On his head, he wore a red scarf, tightly wrapped, and skinny jeans that hung loosely from his waist.

The boy looked scared: However, he held a gun. With his weapon raised and pointed at him, Eric said, "Put the gun down Son."

"F…you!" said the boy, as he raised his pistol in Eric's direction.

Eric hesitated. He didn't want to shoot him! He was just a kid! The boy squeezed off a shot and missed. However, Eric fired his weapon, and the boy fell to the ground. He rushed over to him! There he was with his eyes wide opened; they seemed to be looking up at him.

The edge of a white pamphlet stuck out of the boys pant pocket. Eric pulled it out: "The Way Of The Kenites," was written in red on its front cover. And Eric knew that evil was the real criminal. But, the boy was dead. And, there was nothing he could do to save him.

The sound of bullets flying continued to echo off the buildings. Eric didn't have time to feel sorry for the boy, because he knew that at any given moment, there could be another who was just around the corner waiting to kill.

Eric didn't have time to think about the thirteen-year-old whom he had just killed, or the fifteen year old that he may have paralyzed for life.

_They were at war with them; they were at war with each other and they were at war with us. _

Theskies became black. The thunder roared; a flash of rain rushed down violently, almost with purpose intent to wash away evil, sending it back to Hades. That day it seemed like the Angels in heaven were crying.

The last shot was fired. The officers waited quietly for a few minutes, the silence had been unnerving. The all clear was given. And several ambulances with flashing sirens, waiting to dispatch their paramedics to collect the wounded, and the dead (and there were many) had arrived.

At the end of it all, eight were dead, all of which were kids ranging from the age of eleven to nineteen, all gang members who sought to undo each other over a piece of asphalt and poison.

_When will these kids learn that they aren't the ones who are benefiting from selling drugs? They are the ones who are succeeding at killing one another, he wondered. _

Eric couldn't help thinking that the boy whom he had killed could have been him years ago, when he was a boy. That if it hadn't been for Jim, he would have been doing many of the same things.

_I was the lucky one_.

Burk was brought to the hospital, along with the other officer, where they stitched him back together; he went home after one week, or so. As for the other officer, his wounds rendered him useless for the rest of his life, but he was alive, sort of.

That night, Eric went home feeling numb and incoherent. He felt as though he had been wondering in and out of two different worlds, and never sure of which world he belonged in, never feeling peace, or a place of contentment.

He could have easily lost his life that day. But, for him, that's a reality everyday. It's the life in which he chose, or maybe it chose him. Either way, he was a cop in a big city where the ugliness of crime mingled with the beauty of Brooklyn, and it was, is beautiful. In fact, he would not have chosen to live anywhere else. It was where his heart was, no chance of boredom there.

But still, he would have done anything to have some peace.

**FORTY**

**THE CRIME OF RETRIBUTION**

**(ONE WEEK LATER)**

**T**he word retribution was stainedon the white wall. The Captain was right. Or, was he? It had a similar calling card as the Kenite murders. However, instead of the words "The harvest is hand" the word "Retribution" was written. The killings had started again. The leader Cain―they had not caught the devil―had started again. The _MO_ (Modus Operandus) was different; the bodies were left behind, and there weren't any "The Way of The kenites" pamphlets left behind. Why?

They were confident that they had shut down _Kenites_. However, unfortunately for the poor souls, they were wrong. It was also possible that they had another location in addition to the Community Center on Court Street.

_Who knew how many? They could have been all over the city!_

The stench of evil was everywhere, and it was stifling. Eric thought that, after all the years, ten, to be exact, he would have been used to that kind of human destruction.

However, after he had entered the crime scene, he felt like a rookie who had been wet behind the ears, trying very hard not to gag. He was forced to put a used paper napkin, which had the smell of day old greasy French fries, over his nose to soften the stench.

It had been the worst that he had ever seen. There were four bodies on the floor. The victim's bodies were riddled with what looked like multiple stab holes that were deliberately and forcefully made with great disdain, not to mention the bullet holes. One of the bodies had part of its chest cavity opened; his heart was ripped out, or cut out.

"Hey, Jonas!" called the Captain, pulling his eyes away from the terror which stood before him. The captain moved towards him quickly.

"Yea, Cap!" he answered, still holding the image of the four men in his mind. Luckily for Eric, the large dark mold on the Captain's nose stole his attention.

He was an odd looking man, short, not more than five feet-four inches, with stripes of orange and gray running through his hair, almost laughable, except that, it was not the time or place to laugh, not with what was in front of him.

The Captain said, with a wild nervous look in his eyes:

This scene is beyond troubling! I'm going to put you in charge of this one! I want you to form a team of our best guys, as many as you need, twenty-four hours a day until we catch the crazy bastards who did this here blood fest!

Find them, so that we can fry them! I'm counting on you Eric! Don't let anything get in the way, I mean nothing! I want this case solved ASAP! Once the media gets a hold of this, they're going to be all over us!

I'll give you what ever you'll need, just find the bastards!

"I won't let you down Cap!" Eric said, all the while asking himself if he had what it would take to solve this case; it seemed to be almost over his head.

However, there was one thing that he knew for sure; he knew that this was not just a random killing. It had passion written all over it! Whoever had done this, hated the men whom had lay dead on the floor, with every fiber of their soul.

_ That he knew for sure._

Trying very hard not to disturb the bodies, or evidence before the crime scene investigation unit arrived, Eric took a pen from his pocket, as well as a small camera in which he used only when conducting an investigation, and got down on his knees, just so that he could examine the bodies closer.

One by one he poked and prodded the cold lifeless bodies; a strange feeling, a chill came over him, almost fear. Perhaps, because their lifeless eyes seemed to be staring at him, piercing his nerve, causing him to shudder; it was as though they were watching him, willing him to find their killer.

They reminded him, however, of the first time he saw a lifeless, dead body, his mother's. Her eyes stared at him also, except it took him a while to realize that she was dead. She looked like she had been having a wild dream that kept her eyes opened in order to watch intently for whatever may have been coming her way.

He quickly shook it off and continued to study the bodies, hoping to find a scrap of evidence that would lead him to the killer, or killers, so that those lost souls would be able to sleep peacefully.

In some way, they were the lucky ones. Their suffering had ended. They no longer needed to worry about that day or the next. They would know peace, and be at one with it, or maybe not; maybe, they were lost in hell where they would burn in an eternal flame.

As for Eric, he was still alive. Sure, he was glad, but he wondered if he would ever be able to sleep contently, or to feel peace in his heart for as long as he was.

_That's all he wanted―some peace!_

Eric leaned over to examine the lastbody―the forth. He had a single gun shot wound in the chest, and like the others, there were several, of what looked like stab wounds as well. His face had been marred in blood, but he noticed something familiar.

There was a tattoo, a red circle, with "Brothers" inscribed in the center on the side of the victim's neck. He recognized it because he had one as well. In fact, Tommy, Frank, and Johnny T all had the same tattoo.

The red circle symbolized their infinite friendship; the red meant that they were blood brothers. Even now, to this day, one look at the tattoo on his neck brings back painful memories.

Eric quickly took the piece of napkin which he had held over his mouth and nose, and anxiously wiped away as much blood as he could, realizing that he may compromise the evidence, but he had to know.

He franticly studied the face. It had been some time since Eric had seen his brothers. In fact, he had not seen any of them since the day Frank died.

"No! It can't be, No!" he screamed quietly.

It had indeed been his friend, Tommy, his childhood blood brother. Dead! There was a strange fog that glazed Tommy's motionless eyes. They seemed to stare at Eric, just like Frank's, just like his mother's.

As he continued to look into Tommy's eyes, an anger so powerful had overwhelmed him. It surged through him, making his blood hot, taking it to the boiling point, where there may have been no return.

Eric felt Tommy's spirit beckoning him to find his killer, and avenge him. The memories of the past: The adventures, some good, some bad, which he had experienced with his blood brothers, raced through his mind. But, he quickly came back to the present where Tommy still lay dead on the floor.

Again, someone he cared about was gone, taken away by the evils of the world. Eric felt the room begin to collapse around him; he struggled to breathe. He felt alone in that room, surrounded by the dead who were pleading for him to avenge them.

His head felt as though it would explode. Eric grabbed tightly, trying to squeeze out the voices that had began to torment him.

He heard Tommy call out, "Eric, Eric! Help me! Please!"

He heard the other voices too, and wanted them to go away. He felt separated from his body.

All the bad memories of the past: his mother, his father, the sound of the gun shot which killed Frank had all flashed forward. He felt like he was going insane.

"Hey, Jonas, are you ok? You look like you've just seen a ghost," asked another detective.

Burk came over to join the two men, "Yea!" "They've come back just for you Jonas!" he said. "'Find my killer, or else' " he continued with a shrieking, teasing, laughter.

The two idiots, still laughing, walked off, leaving Eric with the dead, though they did not realize how close to the truth they were.

Feeling maliciously ridiculed, Eric decided that he had had enough. He placed his contaminated pen into a plastic baggy, and put his camera back into its case and back into his jacket pocket, and stormed out of the crime slathered house and into the crime slathered streets.

There was a chill in the air, a sense of something more sinister, and gruesome to come. There was the voice, the prophetic voice of a man, who called himself the messenger:

_**"Submit yourself therefore to**_

_**Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."**_

_** James 4:7**_

He tried to resist the voice. With his face nestled more closely into his jacket, and his hands tucked in his pockets, Eric continued to walk in the opposite direction, but something much stronger pulled him closer to the voice.

There, he saw a man, an old man with long graying hair that reached the lowers of his back, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk: his beard, gray and wiry, had smothered his brown wrinkled face. He wore a long black trench coat that had been inflicted with many holes.

His shoes, or lack of, were torn and weathered. With eyes that seemed as though they would burst at any given moment, white and crazed, the messenger stopped directly in front of him and repeated:

"_**Submit yourself therefore to God.**_

_**Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."**_

The chill of fear traveled quickly through his body. Anxious feelings meandered their way through every part of his being. Eric did not know how to process all that was going through his mind. He felt like mice in a very complicated maze, which had been trying to find the cheese. However, relative to his situation, Eric was trying to find the answers to why it was that his life had been filled with such hardship, such pain.

**FORTY-ONE**

_**THE SUN BEGINS TO RISE**_

**W**_hy me? He thought. Was evil living inside me? Did I have any power over it? Was that old man really talking to me directly?_

Eric laughed! He had convinced himself that the old man had been crazy.

_He didn't know me! He didn't know who I was, or what I had been through._

For a while that day**, **he wandered the streets aimlessly, thinking, trying to comprehend what was going on in his mind. Eric didn't care where he was going, or where he would end up. He only wanted to keep walking the streets of Brooklyn to everywhere and nowhere.

He walked by the old places where he, Tommy, Frank, and Johnny T used to hang out: the Gonzalez's little Bodega on the corner of Park and Flatbush. He walked by the old apartment building where he lived with his parents. He saw himself, there, as a teenage boy locked up in his tiny room, listening to his parent's argue. He saw his mother, dead on the sofa.

Too many memories! Too many losses; Eric was lost in his own failures, and his own misfortunes. But, like the fish that finds its way home to spawn, he found his way home to Shelby.

He opened the door to their apartment. And, waiting to greet him was Shelby with a hot cup of coffee in her hands. However, on this day, not even his beloved coffee could quench his pain. No. He needed more than that.

Eric removed his brown leather jacket and sat at the kitchen table quietly, not saying a word: No hellos, or thank you to his wife who stood there still, trying to surmise what was going through his mind, what face will he show today.

However, Eric only wanted to sit quietly; to quiet the voices in his head, and to erase the face, and the words of the old man from his mind.

"Eric, are you feeling ok?" asked Shelby, with a soft comforting voice.

"Oh my god!" he said, with his head resting on the kitchen table. "I think I'm going crazy! My whole life seems like such a joke, a really bad joke! It's like I'm in some nightmare that I can't wake up from! When am I going to wake up? When is this going to stop?"

_Quiet._

"Jim called. He said that they have been trying to reach you all afternoon! And that, it's important for you get back to him as soon as possible," Shelby said, not knowing what to say, or how to console him.

Consoling him was not something that she had ever needed to do. At least, he would not have allowed her to. Eric had always worn a hard shell, impermeable, rendering it un-consolable.

For a brief moment, he had forgotten about his responsibilities as the lead detective in the case. Instead, his life, and the purpose it served, had flashed before him.

He began to examine his existence. He began to question the direction that he had been driven towards, and to what end, but saw no clear answers. Eric was an aimless wanderer on a useless journey.

_But, was he really?_

**FORTY-TWO**

**S**helby had becomeoverwhelmed with guiltas she recalled the fight, which her and Eric had earlier that morning. She remembered what she had said to him: That, he was responsible for the death of their unborn child.

Eric lifted his weary head from the dining table and placed both arms around himself, as he sat still, staring, staring into darkness, trying to find the answers. He rocked himself back and forth, back and forth, until an unrestricted cry, loud and piercing, escaped his mouth.

"Why? Why?" he kept asking, as _a sea of tears _flowed from his eyes, they have seen too much misery and suffering.

With her hands over her mouth, in disbelief, Shelby stepped back, almost losing her footing on the floor mat. She did not know what to do. She had never seen Eric like that before. She did not know if she should run, or take the opportunity to free herself; she knew that her husband was crazy, he had to be, with the way he had treated her, but things were different this time; she thought that he had stepped over to a place where there would be no return, that, maybe, he really had gone crazy.

However, something stirred inside her. She was unable to understand her feelings. Conflicted emotions swirled within her: There was this man, her husband, whom she hated―so she thought― with every fiber of her body, but she felt sorry for him; she wanted to help him.

"Eric, what is wrong?" she asked, as she very slowly walked back to the table. She stood behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and to her surprise, Eric turned around and grabbed her by the waist.

A surge of fear ran through her, but she stood her ground. He nestled his head between her breast, and cried, releasing all his suffering and torment.

Yes, she hated him mostly, but not at that moment. It was as though all of his abuses of her had never happened, erased, but not forgotten. All her scars, attributed to Eric, including the harshest scar of all, the one he placed on her heart, all seemed to heal instantaneously in that one moment of love; she was happy in his torment. Not because she wanted to see him suffer, although he may have deserved it, but, because he turned to her in his time of need. To Shelby, that was a sign that he still loved her.

All the pain and suffering which he endured, poured out in a rush of rain. The loss of his dad; the loss of his mom; the loss of Frank, and now, the loss of Tommy, and more importantly, the loss of family were all inherent in those tears.

Shelby held on to his shoulders, as though it would be the only, and last time that she would ever be allowed to be so close in such a loving way to her husband.

Her hands trembled with uncertainty as she gently stroked his sweat soaked hair, over and over again, as though she had been lovingly lulling her sweet baby to slumber.

She kissed his head and whispered softly and lovingly, welcoming the warm tears that soaked her worn blouse, they were tears that reminded her of their once cherished love.

"_Sh, Sh_, It's Ok. Don't worry. It's all going to be Ok" she said over and over, while she continued to stroke his hair.

Eric may have been suffering, but for Shelby, she reveled in the joy of feeling love. For the first time, in a long time, he needed her; he needed her to be strong for the both of them, and in a strange way, she needed him to love her. More importantly, she still loved him dearly, in spite of himself.

Tears came to her eyes. She did not want this moment to end. She perpetuated the feeling with memories of their past loving moments:

_I would do anything to have those days back. His touch, his kisses, his caring for me was unwavering! For us, our purpose for living was for each other; no one or nothing else mattered. It was Shelby and Eric. We were there for each other!_

_Some people say that love at first sight is impossible. They ask: How can two people who have never met, who know nothing about the other, their likes, dislikes, fall in love immediately? Well, I say to them, it is possible, because it happened to Eric, and it happened to me!_

**FORTY-THREE**

_**LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT**_

**I**_t was a Saturday morning__**. **__The____air was brisk on that late October day.____M__y friend Kathy, I called her Kat, took a ride up to the Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania, as we often had, for a hike to my sacred rock by Sun Pond, that was our usual destination. _

_ "COME ON! I'LL RACE YOU TO THE TOP! The loser has to spring for drinks later," I declared, as the two of us quickly began our wild sprint to the top. Weighted down with backpacks that were at least fifty pounds, we leaped over protruding rocks, jumped over a winding creek, jumped over dead rotting tree limbs that laid on the ground, all the while, making sure to stay on the path, which curved around the trees and boulders. _

_ Blood rushing, heart thumping harder than the beat of a drum; the gasping of air, the bullets of sweat raced down our backs, we happily threw ourselves on to the ground once we reached the top. _

_ Once I regained my breath, I climbed on to a big boulder that jutted out of the ground; I called it my sacred rock. I could see far into the distance, almost to the end of the world!_

_ "__Wooow__! Kat, look at that! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" I asked, after taking a deep cleansing breath._

"_Beautiful, just beautiful!" answered Kathy, as she tried desperately to catch her breath._

"_I'm on top of the world!" I shouted, waving my hands above my head._

_ The echoing of my voice was deafening. _

"_I wish that I could stay up here forever. No work, no bills, no problems at all"._

"_Me too Shel, but you know that's just wishful thinking."_

"_Yea! But, it would be great! Sometimes, I just want to block out the world. You know what I mean, Kat?" _

_ "Yap! I know exactly what you mean."_

"_Sometimes when I'm having a bad day, I just place myself up here with the late blooming Rhododendrons; the Mountain laurels (although, they were not in bloom that time of year); the tall evergreens; the towering oaks; this overlook, the pond, and suddenly, everything is Ok again. It's perfect!"_

"_Shel, I could lay here forever and watch the time slip by. I mean, seriously! It's like we're existing in two different worlds, or dimensions."_

_ Laughing, "We're in the zone," I said._

_Kat and I stayed at the pond for quite some time; we had our usual girl friend talk, usually about some guy that either Kat, or myself happen to be dating at the time. I remember, Kat was dating some guy, a Wall Street guy, a Stock Broker, and I, at the time, had been dating a guy from work. I was working as a secretary for an Advertising Agency on Madison Avenue in New York City. _

_ We would discuss, and laugh about their love making habits; what they were like; what we didn't like about them, and so on._

_ We ate our usual cheese sandwiches, and granola snacks, water, fruit. We were there, I guess, for quite some time; it was where we found solace, our get away from it all place. Sure, there were others hiking up, or down the mountain, but, for me, with the exception of Kat, I was there, alone in the woods._

_ I laid on my back and watched the orange, gold, and red leaves sway back and forth, or fall off the beautiful oak trees. The pond itself had been covered with leaves, and fallen sticks. The smell of the majestic pine trees lingered in the air; even, the smell of wet, rotting leaves intoxicated my senses. The sky was clear and wondrous; it was such a beautiful day!_

_It was a perfect day for falling in love!_

_ It was about two o'clock in the afternoon; Kat and I had our fill of laughing, eating, and dreaming. We decided to gather up our things, and head down the mountain. We both had plans that night with our guys. _

_We put the used paper lunch bags, and napkins in to our sacks. Strapped them on, and headed down the mountain. Going down was a lot faster, and steeper. We had become accustomed to hearing the rustling of tree limbs, the cracking of sticks coming from other hikers, or a small animal. _

_ However, on that day (about ten minutes into our descent) the sounds seemed more rushed, and more focused in our direction, faster, harder! We stared into the bushes! We saw a black, moving shadow! Out of the brush it came; a bear, it clearly had us in its site! Kat and I froze! We had no idea what to do! Should we run? Should we scream? We had no idea! _

_ Behind us we heard a loud voice, deep, and commanding. It was the voice of a man, yelling, "Get out of here. Go! Shoo!" "Don't move," he said quietly. _

_So, we didn't. I could not move, not even if I tried anyway; I had been frozen with fear. _

_ The voice came closer to us, next to me, with a very tall stick, which he held over his head, as he continued to yell at the very large black bear!_

_ Luckily for us, the bear must not have been very hungry, because after a few seconds of seeming to think about it, he rocked his head left to right a few times, and then moved on._

_ We continued our frozen stance for a few seconds longer, after the bear had lost interest. I guess, we were still in a state of shock, at least I was! _

_"The bear is gone ladies! You can relax now!" said the man, as he stood next to me, still with the stick in his hand._

_ I rustled up the nerve to finally catch my breath, and turned to look at the stranger, who had been dressed in brown army fatigues, and a green baseball cap! _

"_Hi, my name is Eric, Eric Jonas," the stranger said, with his hand extended. _

_With legs that may have given out from underneath me at any time, hands that trembled, uncontrolled breath, I extended my right hand, and shook his. _

_ "I'm Shelby," I said._

_Our eyes met;__ they became locked in place. For a few moments we were on a journey. His eyes were deep, brown, and mysterious looking in a way, veiled with dark secrets yet to be discovered; swifter than the speed of light, I was sucked in to this void, this worm hole, where we were the only inhabitants, there would be no escape from his world! _

_ As our hands remained interlocked, time seemed to slip away slowly; we lingered in perpetual bliss. That day was the beginning of our undying love. We hiked the rest of the way, Kat, Eric, and I. _

_ Kat, feeling like the third wheel, decided that she would walk ahead of us, and meet up with us at the bottom of the mountain!_

_ Eric and I grabbed at the chance to take an exploratory journey, as we worked our way down. _

_"So, what do you do for a living?" I asked him._

"_Well, right now I'm a security guard at the local high school in Brooklyn, but I'm thinking about becoming a cop." _

"_Oh, that's great!" "Now I understand why you weren't afraid of the bear!" I said._

_ "Well, the truth is, I was terrified!"_

"_Oh, I doubt that very much." "You seemed pretty brave to me," I said laughingly._

_We talked seamlessly, laughing, running down the steeper parts, stopping, sitting, picking wild flowers, forgetting Kat, the big black bear, even, the fact that I had a date with my boyfriend; in my mind, he was already out of the picture. From that point on, it was all about Eric―Eric and Shelby! _

_Kat had been waiting for us at the bottom of the mountain; her face looked warped with anger!_

"_What took you so long?" she asked, with her lips curled up, and her voice harsh, and throaty! "I have been sitting on this rock for over one hour; I can no longer feel my butt!" _

_Both Eric and I looked at each other, though we felt hardly guilty! We were glad that we spent that time together, and we wanted more!_

"_Well, I will wait for you in the car Shel," said Kat. "Nice to have met you Eric," she said._

_ We waited for Kat to get in the car._

"_Can I call you later?" asked Eric in a low, sultry voice, as he stood just a few inches away from me. _

_ The smell of his aftershave lotion mixed with the aroma of wet, rotting wood aroused my sensuality. As he waited for my answer, he stood with both his hands tucked in his pockets, like a shy school boy, who was nervously asking a girl out for the first time. Had he been any closer, he would have been able to feel my heart throbbing hard, and erratically._

_"No! You do not have my phone number!" I answered coyly, with a mischievous grin. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I felt awkward being so intimate with a total stranger. I, also, tucked my hands into my jean pockets._

"_Ok then, may I have your phone number so that I can call you later?" he asked._

"_How about if you give me your number, and maybe I will call you!" I said._

"_Ok! I see! You are playing hard to get! I'll play along!" he said, laughingly, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. _

_ He removed a pen from his shirt pocket. Gently, and cautiously, he removed my left hand from my pant pocked, and scribbled his phone number in the palm of my hand. With every stroke of the pen, a lustful sensation surged through my body; at that moment, I felt as though we were compelled to be together!_

_Beep! Beep!_

_ The sounding of the horn rudely interrupted our foreplay; that is, what it was, and we both knew it, although, silently!_

_ "Will you come on!" yelled Kat. "It's getting late."_

_ Rolling his eyes, Eric took a deep breath!_

"_I guess you have to go," he said. "Promise to call me! Tonight!"_

"_I will think about it!" I said, as I placed both my hands on the straps of my sack, and slowly walked away. _

_I could feel his eyes looking, memorizing every curve, and form of my body; I pretended not to notice. I stopped, removed my pack, opened the door to the back passenger side, bent over, and threw my pack in; I quickly turned around, and waived good bye._

"_I was about to drive away! I can't believe you!" Kat said angrily, as I entered the car on the passenger side in the front._

"_I'm sorry, Kat!" I said, with a smug smile that felt like it had permeated my entire face!_

"_I can't believe it! Look at you! You have fallen in love with a perfect stranger, and all in one day! For all you know, that guy could be a serial murderer, or maybe even a rapist! You know nothing about that guy! I hope that you are not planning anything crazy!"_

"_It's crazy Kat, I know! But I feel as though I have known him forever!" "I don't know how, but I feel as though we knew each other, maybe, in another life, centuries ago!"_

"_Another life! You have got to be kidding me! What about the guy you are dating, Neal! You told me that you have a date with him later! What are you going to tell him?"_

"_I'll make up some excuse! Besides, we were just passing the time anyway! There really was nothing there, nothing to sing about! Besides, I have always had the feeling that he has been seeing someone else behind my back, so it really doesn't matter! He will get over it!" I said._

"_I still think that you are crazy falling for some grizzly man who you just met in the woods! But I can't tell you what to do, or how to feel!"_

_ "You seem to have forgotten that that grizzly woods man saved us from being eaten alive by a mad black bear!" I reminded her as I looked at the smutch of numbers in the palm of my hand, which I then transcribed on to a piece of paper taken from Kat's cup holder, and then, stuffed it in my pants pocket._

"_What ever Shel!" "I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into, that's all!"_

_ The truth was, I did not have a clue as to what I was getting into. However, I felt this primal drive to Eric; I wanted to know him! With the two hours that it took to drive from Pennsylvania, back to New York, Kat, and I had, hardly said a word to each other; I guess she really did think that I was crazy!_

**FORTY-FOUR**

**W**_e arrived back in New York____at____about seven. Kat and I shared a small one bedroom apartment. Since I paid a little more of our eight-hundred dollars per month rent, we decided that it was only fair that I had the bedroom. _

_ Kat transformed the small dining area which sat off the living area into a make shift, __sheiky__, kind of Moroccan style bedroom by separating them with a series of curtains, it worked out just fine._

_ Up on entering the apartment, I went directly to my room, small, but brightly painted in a Moroccan blue. I had orange curtains, with veins of blues, and reds running through them; on my bed laid a thick cotton comforter in deep tones of browns, reds, oranges, and blues. I immediately dropped my sack on to the dark, wood floors!_

"_Hey! Quiet up there!" yelled the old man that lived in the apartment beneath us._

_ I removed the piece of paper, which I had written Eric's phone number on earlier, from my pants pocket, and placed it by the phone, on the dark, wooden, square table that sat next to my bed! With out hesitating, I picked up the receiver, and began to dial Eric's number! A nervous excitement rushed through me! I stopped! _

_ Kat's voice was in my head; what she said earlier about me not knowing who that guy was repeated itself over and over. I really had no idea who he was, or why he was in the woods. A nervous sickness began to assault my stomach!_

_ I immediately put the receiver back on its base, and threw myself back on to my bed. I laid there for a while, contemplating, thinking of how I could have been so gullible to think that I met my Mr. Right in the woods; I felt foolish, and childish!_

_My phone rang! I was hesitant to answer it, so, I let it ring several times. However, just before the fourth ring, I wearily raised myself up, and decided to answer._

_ "Hey babe! Where have you been?" asked Neal._

_ "Hi. We got back about two hours ago."_

_ "How was your hiking trip?"_

_ "It was ok," "The usual, nothing to get excited about." I said, being careful not to clue him in on the stranger who saved us from a bear, or the fact that I was pining for that stranger!_

_"We are still on for tonight, right?" he asked._

_I paused for a moment! The image of Eric played over, and over in my mind; the date that I had planned with Neal that evening had escaped me!_

_ "Sure, I guess so," I said apathetically. _

_ "Is everything all right?" he asked._

"_Yeah! I'm fine! I guess I'm just tired from all that walking!" I said. Although, I did not think that he believed me._

"_Maybe we should cancel our date for tonight!" he suggested._

"_No! I'm fine! After a shower, I will feel a lot better, I'm sure!"_

"_Ok! I will pick you up around nine thirty then," he said._

_ "Ok! See you then!" _

_I hung up the phone, got up, and prepared myself for the shower._

_The beating warmth of the water on my shoulders and back ignited my senses! I held my marked hand underneath, and watched the smudged numbers, the evidence, which showed that Eric existed, disappear! One by one they washed away, never to be seen again, but forever engraved in my mind._

_ The memory, actually, the feeling of his gentle touch as he held my hand, and scribbled his phone number in the palm, was fresh in my mind. I felt his closeness caressing me intimately, invading all the hills, and valleys of my form! I imagined his lips pressed against my own, passionately, and thoroughly probing my mouth; I wanted him; I wanted the stranger from the woods!_

_ That had been the longest shower that I had ever taken. My body began to prune up. As a result, I had to force myself to get out, get back to reality, and dry off the essence of Eric. _

_ I stood naked in front of my cluttered closet, shiny polyester shirts (silver, gold, black) skinny jeans, boots, and short glitzy dresses, trying to decide on what I would wear on my date with Neal. I felt amorous, not because of Neal, but because of the handsome grizzly woods man; I wanted to dress for him._

_ As I slid on the tightly fitted black sequence dress, I could see behind me, reflected in the mirror, the piece of paper which I had written Eric's phone number on, resting on the night stand, willing me, daring me to call, like the gravitational pull of the moon summoning the oceans to release its element._

_ I turned around, gawked at the piece of paper, ready to make the move, but at that moment, gravity was broken by the sudden ringing of the phone that stood beside it._

"_Hey, it's Neal." "I'll be up in a minute, as soon as I grab this parking spot."_

"_Ok, I'll be ready in just a few minutes," I said, and quickly hung up the phone._

_ I rushed to the bathroom, searched through the plethora of lipsticks, eye shadows, and rouge, which I had stuffed in a basket that sat on the plastic tiered shelving behind the toilette. I leaned forward against the commode as I slathered the most red, sumptuous lipstick I could find; with rouge to match. I highlighted, and lifted my cheekbones, making them as prominent as possible. I did not bother to blow dry my hair; I wanted to keep the curly, seductive, bed hair look, except neater._

_The door bell rang. I dashed back to the bedroom, and gave myself a final look over, but there it was, peering at me through the mirror, beckoning me to call._

_ "Hi Neal," I heard Kat say._

_ "Will you let Shelby know that I'm here?"_

_ The wanting feelings for Eric began to stir through my mind, through my body! I considered canceling my date with Neal, telling him that I suddenly felt sick._

_ "Shel, Neal is here," Kat called out._

_I had to decide, and quickly. A part of me wanted to tell Neal that it was over, and a part of me wanted to be with Eric!_

"_Hey Shelby, what's taking you so long?" asked Neal._

_ "I'll be right out!" I said, as I reluctantly turned my eyes away from the piece of paper; it was like dying; I was ready to go into the light, but something suddenly pulled me back; I wanted to enter the light where Eric was!_

"_Wow! You look smashing!" said Neal, as he searched my body from head to toe. "Looks like hiking for hours agrees with you! "Maybe you should do it every weekend!"_

_ "Thank You!" I said with a smile._

_ Kat looked at me with disapproving eyes. She made me feel guilty, guilty for almost cheating, well, cheating on Neal with a strange man that I had never met before today, or knew nothing about._

"_I'll see you later Kat," I said, as Neal helped me slip on my black overcoat. _

_We walked out and left Kat sitting on the sofa, safely snuggled up with Tim, her then boyfriend._

**FORTY-FIVE**

_**THE TULIP RESTAURANT**_

**I**_t was a short ride____to the restaurant, but it felt like an eternity. Neal and I tried to have a meaningful conversation, however, it was laboring. _

___"It was great hiking today" I said._

"_Yea! So, I think I'm going to vote Clinton this time," he said._

_Our minds were not in tuned, or, at least, my mind was far away. We were disconnected. _

_ We arrived at the "Tulip" a swanky restaurant in downtown Manhattan. Shortly after, we were seated at a small table. On it was a votive candle floating in a clear liquid surrounded by pink and white flower petals. The room was dark; it evoked the heart of intimacy._

_ A tall, thin man, with black shiny hair, black goatee, and very thin mustache walked up to our table, with a white, cloth table napkin draped over one arm._

"_My name is Frederick, and I will be your waiter for the evening." he said in deep, slow, sultry voice._

_I smiled at him derisively, while Neal gave him a "you got to be kidding me" type look._

"_May I start you off with our house wine?" "It is one of our best Savon Blanc."_

_"Actually, I would prefer a glass of Merlot," I said._

_ "And for you Sir?"_

_ "Do you have Guinness?" asked Neal._

"_Yes Sir. We have a wonderful Caribbean Guinness."_

_"That sounds great. I'll have that," said Neal._

"_May I also place your order?" asked Frederick. "Tonight, we have the most wonderful specials: tenderloin of beef, which has been marinated in red wine. It is served with a rague of wild mushrooms and caramelized onions, on a bed of mashed roots (potatoes, carrots, parsnips). We also have a wild pheasant braised in white wine, and shallots."_

_ "That sounds great, but I need just a few more minutes," I said._

_ "That will be fine," said the waiter._

_Neal and I sat quietly as we waited for our drinks. The darkness of the room, the intimate atmosphere began to feel Claustrophobic, and uncomfortable. I felt the room closing in on me. I saw Eric's face everywhere I looked; it was as though he had been willing me, calling me, thinking about me, and I about him! At that moment I wanted Neal to be Eric, and not the other way around._

_"Are you alright? asked Neal. You look kind of flustered._

"_I'm fine," It feels too warm in here, like they blasted the heat up to ninety degrees," I said, as I twitched around a little._

_ "Do you want me to ask them to turn down the heat?"_

"_No, that's ok. I'll be fine," I said, knowing that I would not be fine. Not as long as I had Eric on my mind._

_ Neal took my hand gently, and looked intently into my eyes. _

"_You know Shelby, we have been dating for a few months now. I really like you, and I would like to see more of you; I mean not just on the weekends," he said, with a serious look in his eyes._

"_Are you asking me to move in with you?" I asked, feeling a nervous anxiety surge through my body._

_ "Yes! I think we should give it a try."_

_I stood silent for a few seconds. I had to think! How could I move in with Neal knowing that I was falling for another man! There was no way I could do that to him, he deserved better._

_ "Well, what do you think?" he asked, as he waited anxiously for me to say yes with sparkles in my eyes. But, I could not. My spirit had been drawn to Eric; I had to go to him!_

"_Neal, I do like you a lot," I said as I took my free hand and placed it over his._

"_I can hear a but coming," he said, with disappointment in his eyes._

"_Yes Neal. But, I don't feel the magic between us; there's no real spark. It feels like we're just dating, just to be dating."_

_ "Maybe we just need more time!" he said._

"_I don't think it's going to work out. I like you Neal, but I'm not the right girl for you."_

"_I think you could be if you give us a chance," he said, with pleading eyes._

"_No Neal. I'm sorry," I said, as I withdrew my hands from his, and pushed myself abruptly away from the table._

_I grabbed my coat, and ran out of the restaurant, leaving Neal at the table, with an embarrassed and perplexed look on his face._

_I knew that what I had done____was not only cruel, but it was downright childish. However, I did not care. My heart beat began to race swifter than the speed of light. I combed the street, trying to hail a cab. It was raining, but that did not matter; I knew who I wanted_

_,and what I wanted. I wanted the stranger from the woods._

_ I sheltered myself under an overhang that jetted out from a building, and fumbled around in my bag for my cellular phone! Immediately, I began to dial the number―Eric's phone number; it had become engraved in my mind. My brain seemed to dial the numbers faster than my fingers could move!_

_ I put the phone to my ear, and listened nervously, and presumptuously, anticipating that Eric would be at home waiting for my call._

_ "Hello," the voice said._

_ I stood silently for a few seconds. Suddenly, I felt foolish. What_ if _I was making a mistake, I thought. But, it was already too late; the numbers had already been dialed, and I had to own up to it; I had to be a big girl, a woman._

_"Who is this?" he asked._

"_It's Shelby," I said with a nervous shake in my voice._

"_Shelby!" "I am so glad that you called! I would like to see you as soon as possible!" he said with eager anticipation. "Can I see you Shelby?"_

"_That's why I'm calling! I want to see you too, now!" I said._

_ The cold rain poured fiercely, but it did not matter, because the wanting sensations of love, and lust all rolled up into one, warmed my entire being._

"_Where are you?" he asked. "It sounds like you're outside; I can here cars driving by."_

"_I'm just downtown in front of the "Tulip" restaurant on one hundred and twenty-fifth Street."_

"_The Tulip restaurant!" "I know exactly where it is." he said with a tinge of suspicion in his voice. "Are you there by yourself?" There was a silence that followed._

"_Well I was here with someone, but It didn't work out; it just did not feel right," I said, feeling awkward and indecisive. _

"_Can I meet you at your apartment in about one hour?" _

_I paused for a moment. Kat's voice kept ringing in my head, "He could be a murderer, or a rapist," she said. "You don't know anything about this guy." _

_But, I did not care. At that moment, I wanted only to listen to what my heart was telling me, even if my mind disagreed. I wanted to be with Eric._

"_I guess that would be alright," I said, trying not to give away my enthusiasm, or not to appear to be too easy. "Ok! I'll be waiting for you!" I said, forcefully coaxing the words from my lips._

"_By the way, how am I going to get to you? I don't have your address!"_

_ "Oh!" I said laughingly. _

_ I hesitated for a moment. There was still a chance for me to back out. All I had to do was not give him my address. _

_ "Shelby, are you still there?" he asked._

_ "Yes. Yes! I'm still here!"_

_ "You were just about to give me your address."_

_ "My address: Ok! It is 84...125 Street," I said, knowing that there would be no turning back. I had made my final decision._

_ My heart raced faster than it could hold its beat. There were butterflies in my stomach, fluttering, tumbling, fighting for their right to exist. _

"_I may get there sooner depending on how the traffic is on the Brooklyn Bridge."_

"_Ok, I'll be ready. As soon as I can hale a cab, it will take me only fifteen minutes to get home. "I will see you soon," I said, and then I disconnected the call._

_ Was I crazy? But, when you really think about it, how many of us can say that we knew our husbands, or boyfriends very well before we said yes to a date, or even to marriage? I assume not too many._

_ I placed the phone back inside my black handbag. It was done! I did it; I followed my foolish heart. I felt elated; my head felt as though it was floating on air! That light airy feeling had suddenly been deflated, and I began to feel as though I had been deprived of oxygen when I saw Neal, finally, walk out of the restaurant. _

_ We made eye contact; the heartbreaking look on his face, intensified with the flood of rain that rushed down his body. It sickened me; I had been suddenly overcome with guilt._

_ A yellow cab pulled up beside me; I got in, the final gaze between Neal and I was broken as the cab pulled away, sending insulting splashes of filthy runoff in his direction. _

**FORTY-SIX**

**I**_n spite of the rain__, it took only about ten minutes to get home. The cabby dropped me off at the curb, and I made a run for it. Not that it really mattered, I was already soaking wet._

___My body felt cold, and nervous. Water dripped from my hair. I dropped the keys while trying to unlock____the door____to my apartment. Finally, after retrieving the keys, I entered. The room was completely dark, but I could here soft voices coming from Kat's room; it was clear that her date was still there._

_ Very carefully, trying not to disturb their moment of whatever they were doing, I tiptoed to my room, opened the door softly, and then closed it behind me, softly._

_ I turned around, and there it was, resting on the night stand next to the__telephone, staring at me, the piece of paper scribbled with Eric's phone number, reminding me that I took the leap. Reminding me that I had called Eric, and he was on his way to see me, now!_

_ I hastily peeled the wet coat off my body and threw it on to the floor. Then, I peeled off the form fitting dress, rushed over to my closet, stopped, frozen in front of it, completely indecisive with what I should wear on my first date with Eric. We had not used the word date, but that's what it was, a date._

_ I took out a glittering red dress that clung tightly to my body, and had just made it past my butt, looked at myself in the mirror, but decided that it would be too alluring, after all, I did not want him to think of me as that kind of girl._

_ Next, I put on a pair of tightly fitted black leather leggings that accentuated all the lines of my body, that too seemed alluring, I did not want him to get the wrong idea about me; I threw it on the bed along with the red dress._

_ Finally, I put on a pair of fitted blue jeans, it complimented the lines of my body without making them too pronounced, a black sequenced V-neck sweater, and wrapped a black, sequenced scarf, with stripes of red running through it, loosely around my neck. On my feet, I slipped on a pair of black leather boots underneath the jeans; I looked at myself, and decided that my outfit was perfect._

_ After getting dressed for the second time that night, I rushed to the bathroom, freshened up my make-up, my hair; I kept the loose curly look that I had before. I checked myself in the mirror once more, grabbed my dry, black, waist length jacket, black bag, and walked out of my room closing the door gently behind me._

_As I tiptoed towards the living room, my Cellular phone rang loudly, alerting Kat, and disturbing what ever it was she had been doing._

_ "Shel, is that you?" she asked with a tinge of annoyance in her voice, like I had just interrupted a pivotal moment for her._

_ "Yes!" I said. "I'm sorry!"_

_ I answered the call. It was Eric, announcing that he was double parked in front of my apartment building._

"_I drove around for at least ten minutes; all the spots are taken," he said._

_ "Don't worry Eric, I will meet you downstairs," I said breathlessly, not realizing that Kat had been standing behind me with her arms folded, and listening to every word._

_ "Eric?" she said with a perplexed look in her eyes. _

"_You have got to be kidding me. What happened to Neal?"_

_ I cut her off abruptly, "I'll explain later," I said, knowing that I did not fully understand what I was doing, myself. _

"_Whatever," she said, as she rolled her eyes, and walked back to her room._

_I anxiously headed for the front door, and exited my apartment._

_ While on the elevator, four flights down, I argued with myself schizophrenically; part of me wanted to head back up, the sensible part, and the other wanted to go full throttle, not taking a moment to think. I felt reckless, but exhilarated, and free._

_I opened the glass door; the rain had stopped. I stepped outside, and there he was waiting for me in his yellow Corvette. He immediately opened the door, and stepped out. The anxiety and elation mounted, one on top of the other with every step, as I made my approach. _

_ I stopped directly in front of him, just a few inches away. He extended both arms, put them around my waist, pulled me closer, and before I could object, he kissed me with wanting purpose, and power._

_ The electricity flowed kinetically between us. I felt his strong chest, and his heavy manhood pressed firmly against my weakened body. I felt safe in his powerful hold._

_ The kissing had ended. I looked silently into his deep eyes, and at that moment, I knew my heart was right. I knew that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. There was no turning back._

"_You are so beautiful," he said, as he held me tightly against his firm body around my waist._

_ "Thank you," I replied in a low, soft, crackling voice, as though I had a frog stirring around in my throat. He smiled teasingly._

_ Eric, then, took my hand, and escorted me around to the other side of the car; he opened the door and gestured for me to get in. I willing sunk myself into the soft, worn, black, leather seats, which smelled like old shoes that had been left in an attic for too many years. But, that did not matter; I was where I belonged; I was with Eric._

_The door was shut.____Eric dashed around to the driver's side, and slid in. The engine roared as he held his foot on the brake, and pressed lightly on the gas several times, sending a rush of adrenalin through my body, enlivening all my senses. We were off to a new adventure._

"_So, what do you want to do?" he asked while driving with out a destination._

"_I haven't really thought about that," I said, being careful not to give my lustful thoughts away._

"_Are you hungry?" he asked as he looked at me with ravenous intent in his eyes._

_ "Not really," I said, knowing full well that my stomach was feeding on itself, since I skipped out on dinner with Neal at the Tulip restaurant. I hoped that he was not able to hear the roaring sounds that were emanating from my stomach._

"_If you want to, we can go back to my place in Brooklyn," he said. _

_ "I make a mean macaroni and cheese." _

_ "From scratch, or out of the box?" I asked laughingly._

"_Um, out of the box," he answered in a low voice showing signs of some embarrassment. _

"_I love macaroni and cheese from the box," I said. "It's one of my favorite foods."_

_"Great," he said with relief in his voice._

_ Eric stepped a little firmer on the gas pedal. We cruised all the way to Brooklyn. It was as though everyone knew that we were coming! With the exception of an old man, who tried to flag us down in the middle of the street just so he could give us a car wash with dirty bottled water. They paved the way for us, and we made it in record time._

_ We arrived around eleven that night.____ Eric had parked his car directly in front of an old brown brick apartment building, old, but charming._

_ "Wait here," he said, as he quickly got out of the car, walked around to my side, and opened the door. He held out his hand, and gestured for me to take it. I took his hand, and slowly stepped out of the car matching his gentlemanly gesture to my womanly, or fine womanly acceptance. He closed the door behind us._

_ Eric held my hand as we approached the tall, heavy wood door peppered with cracked paint of many colors. We walked in to a hallway. The floor was covered with a black and white vinyl, with cracks here and there. The walls were blanketed with a white marble, with hints of grays, and black meandering through it. We entered an old elevator with a heavy caged sliding door. Eric pressed the number five button. _

_ After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the elevator finally arrived; we got in. As we climbed one floor at a time, a cold, nervous excitement traveled up my back. I felt a warm sweat between our hands; he was as nervous as I was. He held my hand even tighter, letting me know that I belonged to him now; I did not protest._

_ The elevator stopped, so did my heart._

"_Well, here we are," he said, as we walked out on to the fifth floor._

_Eric let go of my hand, and fumbled for the key to his apartment. He opened the door to his small studio apartment, took my hand, and led me in. I stood by the door for a few seconds, looked around: Mounted on the walls were pictures of the woods, and woodland animals―bears, wild turkeys, and the like. _

_ It seemed like he loved nature just as much as I had, which would explain why he was at the mountain earlier. He was there just to hike. I sighed in relief because that would debunk Kat's idea that maybe he was a criminal, or a rapist who had been in the woods to rape a woman. There was also a picture of an older man wearing a police uniform. _

_ There was a gray futon like sofa against a light gray wall. In front of the sofa was a dark wooden, rectangular table with nothing on it. In a corner was a small kitchenette with just the necessary appliances, white fridge, white stove, and a stainless steel sink._

_ I walked over to take a closer look at the picture of the police officer on the wall. Eric followed closely behind me._

_"Who is this?" I asked, assuming that this man must have been very important to him, since it was the only picture of a person hung up on his wall, prominently. _

"_That's Jim, my foster parent. He took me in when I was a teenager, and I lived with him up on till one year ago."_

"_Oh!" "So, do…." However he cut me off before I could finish my question._

"_Let me take your jacket," he said, as he began to peel it off, one arm at a time. _

_ I turned slightly around to make it easier for him to remove the jacket. Our eyes met. Captivated by "the what will soon to be" refusing to let go of each others wanting for the other, silently searching each others soul, we gently drew closer to each others lips. _

_ The jacket fell to the floor. He took me into his arms tightly, pressing my form into his. Our hearts were one; they were beating together in a symphony of wanting._

_He pressed his lips firmly against mine, like before, but only with more purpose, and intent. The fire between us sent flames quickening through every fiber of my body._

_ He picked me up by the waist, effortlessly, still with his lips pressed against mine; carried me over to his gray futon, and laid me down gently._

_"Are you sure?" he asked as he looked into my eyes._

_ "Yes," I answered softly. "This is what I want."_

_The night was filled with feeling love, giving love, and indulging in lustful pleasures._

_ I__t was about four __A.M…_

"_How about that macaroni and cheese now?" he asked, as he held me closely tucked under his arm._

_ "This early in the morning?" I asked laughingly._

"_I guess it's too early for that," he said. "But I'm starving."_

"_Me too," I admitted, placing my hands on my stomach. _

"_I have an idea. How about I make us a couple of cheese omelets instead?" he asked._

_ "That sounds like a delicious idea," I said, as I looked at Eric, and licked my hungry lips. Eric jumped at the chance to tenderly kiss them._

_Eric got out of bed, or his futon, and slipped on the blue jeans that he had worn the night before. With his back turned towards me, I noticed a tattoo on the side of his neck, that had "Brothers" inscribed on it._

_ "Great tattoo," I said._

"_Thanks," he replied without the expected elaboration. _

_I figured that it was something that he did not want to talk about, so I did not push him to do so. But, I was reminded that I still did not know a lot about this man._

_ I got off Eric's futon, and slipped on the white T-shirt, which he had worn the night before. I took a deep breath, filling the memory of his scent in my mind forever, the scent of hibiscus, and sandalwood. _

_ "Where is your bathroom?" I asked._

_ "It's the door to your left," he said, as he searched about for a skillet in his small kitchenette._

_ I opened the door to his small bathroom, which had been painted in more grays, just like the rest of his apartment. There was a small, white vanity, with a small white, circular sink, and above it, was a small rectangular mirror._

_ I looked at myself i__n the mirror. And looking back at me was a happy woman with eyes that glimmered―she smiled at me, because everything was the way it was meant to be._

_ After my business was done, I gave myself a final check-over in the mirror―I liked what I saw―and I exited the room._

"_How are you feeling?" asked Eric, as he whisked together the eggs for our omelet._

_ "I'm great!" I said._

_I approached him. He grabbed me by the waist, pulled me up, forcing me to my toes, and kissed me hard, and longingly._

_My head felt dizzy, and in a daze as he let me down back to earth._

_ "Can I help you?" I asked, still trying to recover._

"_Babe, I want you to just sit down and relax. Let me take care of you."_

_ I sat down on the edge of his futon in front of the wooden rectangular table watching him whisk fiercely, stopping every now and then to add some sort of seasoning to the well beaten eggs._

_ That morning we feasted on more than eggs and toast; we feasted on each other, stoked the fire over and over, listened, learned more about each other, and made plans for the future, though, only in our own minds._

**FORTY-SEVEN**

**M**_onday__**, **__w__hile at work, Kat came over to my desk. I clicked away on my computer, and pretended that I was just so overwhelmed with work, that I was unable to discuss anything with her._

"_You are not fooling me," she said, with a dubious look on her face._

"_What do you mean? I have no idea what you are talking about," I said, looking like "The Cat That Ate The Canary."_

"_Ah, come on Shel!" "I know that you spent the night with bear man! Why don't you just fess up?"_

_ "Alright, alright!" _

_ I felt like a school girl, who had just had her first serious encounter with a boy. I stopped typing, and swiveled around in my chair to face Kat, who had been standing, leaning against the edge of my desk, eager to hear all the dirty details._

"_We made a fire that sizzled the entire night, and into the day." "I never thought that I would meet someone that could light my fire the way Eric has," I said._

_ From the look on Kat's red face, I could tell that I was making her feel embarrassed, but I did not care. Besides, she wanted to hear all the juicy details, and I was just bursting to talk about it._

"_I still think that you are nuts falling for some strange bear man." "I can feel in my gut that there's something about this guy that's not right." she said._

_ It did not matter what Kat said, or thought, I wanted to be with Eric, and he wanted to be with me. Besides, we all have something about us that's not right with the world._

_For several months____Eric and I were together____almost on a daily basis. If we were not with each other, then we would be on the phone for several hours, which was mostly an opportunity for foreplay. _

_ Our relationship was wonderful, and infinite. His demeanor could have rivaled that of Gandhi. It seemed that he had always made it a point to go out of his way to please me, even if it meant denying himself in some form or another._

_ However, I did notice that if the right buttons were pushed, Gandhi quickly became a rebel not to be fooled with. The first time I noticed this behavior I was stunned. I ran into an old high school friend, Barry, while I was on my way to lunch. It happened that he had been working just one block away from my job, and he was also on his way to lunch. We decided to have lunch together, and catch up on old times._

_ That day, Eric called my office. He decided that he would surprise me for lunch. He spoke with Kat, who had told him where I was going be: he made her swear not to give me a heads up._

_ "It's so great to see you Shel," Barry said, as we sat down to our table. "What have you been up to?"_

_ I told him about my job and how much I enjoyed it. We reminisced about our high school days. Like the time the entire school had to be evacuated because our friend Zach had set off a couple of stink bombs sending stomach wrenching, nauseating fumes all through out the school. We laughed to the point where neither one of us was able to eat our sandwiches._

_ At that moment, Eric walked into the small restaurant on Eighth Avenue. I was shocked to see him, surprised, but in a good way. I was so excited about Eric. I got up with the intention of rushing over to him, to bring him over to meet Barry._

"_Are you cheating on me already?" he yelled, causing every eye in the restaurant to become focused on us, including Barry._

_ "You are just like the rest, cheap whores!"_

_ "No, Eric! You don't understand!"_

_ At that moment Barry came over to try and clear things up. But, it went horribly wrong. As soon as he got close enough, Eric landed a punch on the side of his face, throwing Barry off balance. Luckily, Barry was a tall, bulky guy; he was able to recover quickly. _

"_If I ever see you anywhere near her again, I'll kill you! You understand!" _

_ Just as Barry was about to return a volley, a completely flustered middle aged man with just a few hairs spread out on his head, rushed over, he was the store manager._

"_Take this out of my place now, or I will call the cops!"_

"_You maniac! Who do you think you are?" asked Barry, holding the side of face, trying to compose himself._

_ "Eric!" I cried._

_ He grabbed my hand, and pulled me forcefully out of the restaurant; I was happy to get out of there. As we walked out, I turned my head towards Barry, and signaled to him how sorry I was about what had just happened._

_ As soon as Eric got me outside, before I even had a chance to explain, he smacked me in my face for all the world to see. I had not expected that from him. I had never seen that side of him before then._

_ I thought maybe Kat was right: That, maybe I really did not know enough about Eric, and that, maybe, he had some dark secret. I questioned every thing that happened between us: every tender kiss, every gift that he had ever given me. Nothing seemed real anymore._

_ "The guy that you just hit was just a high school friend that I happen to run into! We were just talking about old times. When you walked in, I got up with the intention of bringing you over to meet him, but you didn't give me a chance. You assumed the worst!"_

_ "Do you expect me to believe that?"_

"_Yes, I do!" "I thought you knew me better than that! I guess I was wrong!" I said, while holding the side of my face, to shield it from the world._

"_This will be the first, and the last time you will ever get to lay a hand on me again in this way!" "I don't ever want to see you again!" I said._

_I abruptly walked away leaving him looking foolish, and completely abashed. _

_ That evening I went home feeling empty, as though I had just lost a love one to death. There was some truth in that. The second that I entered my apartment, I immediately sprang for my bed. I threw off my shoes, pulled the covers up, and climbed under, hiding myself from world, and especially, from Kat. I laid there crying until Kat knocked on my door._

_ "Are you alright?"_

"_Yes, I'm fine," I said, knowing it was not the truth. _

_ The truth was, I felt like a fool, especially since Kat had warned me about Eric. I felt betrayed by him, like he stole something precious from me; he did, he stole our trust._

_Just as Kat was about to fully enter my room, ready to grill me for the whole story, my phone rang. It rang a few times._

_ "Aren't you going to answer that?"_

_Just as the phone was about to ring for the last time; just before the answering machine was about to kick on, I picked up the receiver. Kat picked up on her queue to leave the room._

_ "Just listen, please Shel." he pleaded._

_I had the inclination to hang up, but for reasons I can't explain, I did not; I chose to listen._

"_I love you so much. And, when I saw you with that guy, laughing, having a good time, I got so angry. I felt as though he was taking something valuable away from me! I don't know what happened, but I snapped. I am so sorry. I hope that you'll forgive me, please!"_

"_First of all, I am not a commodity. I am a person who has real feelings, and it really hurts that you did not trust me. But, worst of all, you hit me! Why did you hit me?"_

"_I don't know. It's just that I thought you were making me out to be a fool. But, I had no right to hit you. I promise you Shel, it won't happen again! Will you give us another chance, please?"_

_ For a few minutes I remained silent._

"_Shel, I promise to make it up to you. Please, just give us another chance!" _

_ I sensed a slight hoarseness in his voice as though he had been crying. I had been compelled to believe that he was sincere._

_ "Can I come over? I'm just outside your apartment."_

_I was taken aback by that, but I decided to let it go. Besides, there was a part of me that yearned for his touch. I wanted to see him. I wanted to be in his arms. _

_ The door bell rang; I opened it, and there was Eric holding a bunch of red roses. I invited him in, accepted the roses, and before I could blink, we held each other tightly, promising to never let go. _

_ He pressed his lips against my lips with a fierce desire. He picked me up, and carried me off to my room where we spent the rest of the night. Our love had been sealed that night; there would be no turning back._

**FORTY-EIGHT**

_**THE LAST TIME**_

**T**_he incident with Eric____**(**__hitting me) had been____the first and the last before we were married. Our relationship became fluid, easy, almost as though we had already been married for years; we were comfortable with each other, and each others short comings. _

_ That year in June, Eric entered the police academy. For the longest time, Eric had talked about becoming a cop. He used to brag about knowing the streets, and even some of the street thugs. It was easy to see the excitement in his eyes when he talked about it._

"_I want to be a cop like my dad was, except, I'm going to be better at it," Eric said to me. _

_He wanted to be better than his dad, as though he was competing with him; it had been his purpose._

_ At the time, I had been working as a secretary at the Advertising Agency. I was not making a lot of money, but I loved my job._

_ Eric and I were married one year later! The wedding was very small, just a few friends―co-workers, and Eric's buddies from the police academy; we couldn't afford much._

_ We rented a small apartment, the apartment that we live in now. It wasn't much, but it didn't matter, because we had each other, that was all we cared about._

_ It had been almost perfect! We were so happy together! Most days, I could not wait to get home to make Eric dinner, talk, and enjoy being married to this man._

_ One year later, Eric graduated from the police academy. It was a very exciting time in our lives together; everything was falling into the right place!_

_ Eric settled in to his job at the precinct on C Street, where he could be close to Jim, who was like a father to him; he was always there when Eric needed him! _

_ After a few months, Eric came home one day, "Honey, I think that you should quit your job, and stay home. "I'm making more money now! I want to take care of you! Besides, maybe, we can try to add a member, or two, to our family," he said, as he held my face in his warm hands, and then proceeded to kiss me on the lips._

_ I loved him so much: I wanted to please him; I would have done anything for him. I didn't take the time to think about myself, my future, or how dependant I would become on him! I had become completely, and utterly disillusioned from reality!_

_ Things were great for a while. I enjoyed taking care of him; what ever he wanted, or needed, I did for him. I made his meals, and served it to him, I laundered his clothes, did the shopping, made his doctor appointments, cleaned the apartment, I was a wife in every way to him, and in return, he loved me!_

_ A few months later, I began to notice a change in Eric. He became more tense, and more often. He began to snap at me for the smallest things, like not having his dinner ready as soon as he got home from work:_

"_You're home all day, and can't have supper ready on time?" he would ask._

_ He insisted on having a hot cup of coffee as soon as he got home, if I did not have it ready, he would become agitated. These encounters became more frequent, and more intense. _

_Eric came home one day. I guessed that he had a hard day (it was evident on his face). I tried my best not to irritate him, however, I think that it did not matter what I did, good or bad, he wanted to find some sort of release for whatever was going on in his mind, and I was it; he slapped me for leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He said I was lazy. It had been the first time since we were married. That day the change had become permanent._

_ Our safe, loving world was flipped upside down on its axis. An ocean of fear, and bewilderment flooded my soul! _

_I asked myself, "what happened? What did I do wrong?" _

_I told myself that I could be a better wife, that I should pay more attention, and not make mistakes! I blamed myself! I blamed his job, which seemed to weigh heavy on him; he became more stressed, and less reasonable. However, I was secured with the knowledge that he loved me, and I loved him back! _

_ That slap, that one slap, triggered some sort of evil in Eric. It was as though something dormant, sleeping, had been awoken! Over time, his slaps turned into full blown beatings. _

_ Often, he would shake me violently, almost as though he had been trying to enliven something or someone in me, but the worst thing of all, he began to disparage me with words of hate and repugnance._

_And now, here he is, like a helpless child wrapped in my arms._

_What can I do? What should I do? _

**FORTY-NINE**

_**A NEW PATH**_

**T**he day after he had identified Tommyamong the dead, Eric took a little time to process everything. In a sense, it was for him a turning point: allowing him-self to show weakness in the presence of his wife; allowing him-self to feel, to cry; but, more importantly, allowing him-self to be held and loved by Shelby who desperately needed him as much as he needed her.

He came to the realization that, the way we (meaning all of us) live our lives may play a big role in how we die. He had always felt that he would be killed while pursuing a perpetrator. And, it was something that he accepted as such.

Eric believed there were, however, outliers: people who live their lives according to society's rules, but in the end, they suffer by the hands of those who have fallen victim to evil, those who were weak.

It's a vicious circle. We are born innocent, until someone who has been driven to do evil, turns on us; society turns on us. And as we grow, the pain which had been inflicted by others enlivens the evil which lay dormant within us, thus driving us to perpetuate evil acts.

And, unless we have some force that is stronger than evil, something good that is strong with in us, it is very difficult to turn away from evil. The more we give in to it, the stronger it becomes.

He realized that evil is always with us: it's in us, and all around us. And, unless we recognize it for what it is, we may never know that it is what drives us to do wrong.

For the first time, Eric realized that in order for him to fight this evil, he had to start with himself. He had to look deeply with in himself, his soul, and when he did, he did not like what he saw.

There he stood, looking back at the person in the small mirror, which hung in his bathroom, feeling as if someone had hit him over the head. However, looking back at him was someone whom, he did not recognize; he saw a monster with deep cavernous eyes that appeared to be lost, dejected. Fear shot through his body. He had to get out! He had to run! And so he did, back to the streets of Brooklyn, wild and bemused.

His cellular phone rang repeatedly! However, Eric didn't answer. He couldn't answer. It was cold, and damp and foggy. Somehow, he ended up in an empty church, with the exception of one man.

Eric sat on a church pew, quietly and alone. There were voices from his childhood, faces, some he knew, others he had never seen before; he heard screams, the constant beeping of cars, and buses, and trucks as they whizzed by each other; his head was in a confusion of turmoil.

He did not understand what was happening to him. He felt like he was on a very fast train that had lost its brakes, and there was no one to stop it. But then, he heard these words spoken by the only other person who had been sitting just a few benches away from him:

"_**Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.'" **__**PSALM 141:23, 24**_

His voice echoed through the empty church. However, Eric did not know if those words were meant for his ears, or for the speaker himself.

The stranger turned around, and at that moment, Eric realized that he had been the same, crazy, old man who had accosted him in the streets the day before.

The old man stared at Eric, intently, and repeated several times:

" _**God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble…. Be still, and know that he is God.'" PSALM 46: 1, 10**_

__Strangely enough, after hearing those words, a certain peace enveloped Eric. His breathing had become much slower, and he was no longer panicked. There was something, a voice, or a feeling, telepathically guiding his thoughts.

_It can't be explained. _

But somehow, he knew what he had to do; he knew what he must do. Perhaps the old man wasn't crazy after all. Perhaps he was a messenger, who had a message just for him.

_Perhaps we will never know._

However, there was one thing that Eric knew for sure: He knew that he had no real facts as to why Tommy had been among the dead. But, he had a feeling that it was not because he had been an outlier, trying to do good. In fact, he was almost sure that it had been just the opposite.

He was sure that evil had driven Tommy to that place and time. In Eric's mind, the killer, or killers were the scourge of evil, and a prophet of Satan sent to collect a debt―to harvest their evil souls.

Yes, Tommy may have been evil, but he had also been good, and had been his childhood friend and brother-in-survival. And the chance to change his ways, to become better for good, had been stolen from him.

_The devil has no real power. He is more like a scavenger waiting to feed on the weak of mind, and the weak of heart._

_He has no power to judge another man, or to claim his soul. Only God has that power! For it is he who made us! And it is he who must judge us to be one way or another! We belong to him, and him alone, every part of us, especially our souls._

He swore to wage war on evil itself. He would search it out, from this day to the next, beginning with today's murderers, to tomorrow's rapist. This would be his life's mission, all of them, for as long as it was within his power and reach; he would bring them to justice. Evil would be made to pay, not in anyway to bring physical harm to anyone, but instead, to bring them into the light, force them to face their evil, to recognize it, and to fight it.

He would be liberated from this same evil, which has caused him torment and suffering; then, he would finally be free from hate; free from the anguish of wanting love, not wanting love, to giving love, and allowing him-self to receive love. He would finally be able to breathe, to smile because his heart will feel lighter, and he would be filled with joy.

All the faces of the past would cease to play over and over again in his mind. His mother's voice, yelling, bashing, telling him how stupid he was, "You are such a _loggerhead_," she would say, and that, he would never be anything, or be anyone of consequence, the white of her eyes, glaring, wild, filled with hate and jealousy, the smell of her drunken breath still lingered, his father's voice, demeaning, disparaging, dismantling his mother with each word.

_**My wife, my beautiful wife, whom, knowingly, I have treated so distastefully, as though she were to blame for my perpetual torment: she was the only rock in-which I had to burden my anguish with. Though it may not have been just, I knew that she would be the sponge for all my fears and turbulent emotions. For her too, I swear to find retribution! **_He thought.

Eric was determined to fix it all, so that he would be free to love again.

**FIFTY**

_**TO CATCH A KILLER**_

**T**hey had never stoppedsearching for the murderous bastard (Cain, the leader of the Kenites) who thought that he was a child of the devil; he was right in a sick sort of way! He had to have been to order the killings of innocent people who did not wish to join his cult.

The officers of Unit 21 were getting close. Lucia, a young follower, after months of decoding his brain with the help of a minister (Bryant) quoting scripture from the Holy Bible, had finally realized that the One that he claimed to worship had abandoned him to a life of misery and imprisonment.

He had finally seen the truth through all the fog that had clouded his mind. He gave a full description of what this enigmatic Cain looked like; after all the months, this young man's description had been the first: dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, olive skin, and a black mole on his chin.

Eric was in church the day they found him wondering around near his apartment. They tried to reach him, but he didn't take the call. At that moment, his mind was traveling from misery to misery, thinking about Tommy, Shelby. He was unable to focus. Later, he learned that Cain had been shot dead.

_They got the bastard anyway!_

Burk said they tried to take him in alive. After all, there were lots of men who could fit that description; they wanted to be sure, perhaps have him identified by one of his own cult members. But, when he began to call out for his father, Bane to help, to strike down his pursuers, and when he rushed towards the group of officers spewing words that only could have come from Satan's bible, they felt threatened by his actions. He was fired upon, killing him immediately.

Later, a conclusive match was made using hair samples that were found on the engineer's chair in the underground room of the Community Center. The DNA report showed that Cain and Phillip were one in the same.

**(**_**Day After Cops killed Cain**_**)**

There was a change in the air, like something good was going to happen; it was a good day to catch a killer.

For many weeks Unit 21 had been inundated with crimes of all nature and levels, which caused a back log of cases that needed to be solved. However, Eric's first priority was to find Tommy's killers; he had hoped before Christmas―it had only been a few weeks since the murders.

They worked on several cases, simultaneously; it was difficult to say the least. At the same time, Eric was committed to making his relationship with Shelby better. He had even agreed to see a therapist, but feared that it was all ready too late. Her resentment and hate of him was so deep, that it seemed almost impossible that they would ever be able to repair the damage that had all ready been done.

Eric tried desperately to control his rage. And sometimes he was successful. However, there were times which he failed miserably. He did, however, succeed at making Shelby even more confused; he succeeded at strengthening her distrust of him.

Connolly, Burk, Smith, and Gordon met Eric at the precinct for an emergency meeting that morning. And on his desk in front of him were some evidence, including the 9 mm, Smith and Wesson, one of the murder weapons found at the crime scene; it had taken months to receive the analysis of most of the evidence, as well as the lab reports from the Medical Examiner's office for each of the victims, including pictures of each, and background information about them. There was a black board, that was really a white board, and some colored markers all placed at the front of the room.

The room itself was small, painted cop blue, with stately crown moldings that suffered from age, and layers of peeling paint, blue, black, white. And a few old, stainless steel desk spread out.

He grabbed the evidence; took the photos of the murder victims out of the file folders, walked to the front of the room, placed the evidence on the desk that had been placed at the front of the room, and secured the victims photos on the board.

The other men grabbed chairs and sat in front of the board. In their eyes, Eric could see the intensity, the earnest wanting, and their eagerness to begin the investigation that would lead them to the killer.

"So, Jonas, what do we have so far?" asked Gordon.

"From what I hear, those guys were a bunch of no good crap

dealers," said Connolly. "As far as I'm concerned they got what

was coming to them," he went on to say.

"Yes, they may have been scum, Eric said. But they were brutally

murdered! I mean, look at how these guys were killed! They were

shot and knifed. And one had his heart ripped out! The murderers

are obviously insane, and worst, they are still out there. We must

get them off the streets as soon as possible before they kill again."

"How do we know for sure that these guys were killed by the

_Kenites_?" "I mean, why leave the bodies at the crime scene?

They didn't the last time!" said Connolly.

"Yeah! Why take the risk of leaving evidence behind? It doesn't

match their MO!" Connolly said. "Those guys were scums! They

were bad! Aren't they the type of people who they would have

wanted in their evil organization?"

"I don't know! Everything you said is probably right, but we have

to assume that they were, based on the fact that the word,

"Retribution" was written in blood. It may very well be a copy-cat situation. After all, the Kenites wrote, "The Harvest is At Hand" not "Retribution," Eric responded, feeling overwhelmed, and completely confused.

"Jonas, show us what we have so far." Burk demanded.

"OK! So far we know that they were shot, know big surprise there! We even have the murder weapon! Forensic has already matched this weapon to the bullets found in the victims! As far as the stab wounds found on each of their chest, based on the Medical Examiners report, they, most likely, were made with some type of serrated edged knife! Also, while I was probing the bodies at the crime scene, I bagged a piece of torn fabric, which did not look like it came from the victims clothing," he explained.

The men sat still in their chairs with their arms folded, waiting patiently, and in anticipation for Eric to show them the piece of fabric, Smith shook his legs nervously. He was the newest member of Unit 21, only twenty-three at the time.

The other guys, Connolly, twenty-eight, Burk, twenty-nine, and Gordon, twenty-eight were more familiar with the way the unit operated. They had been a part of the team for almost two years. Smith was a recent addition, placed after they lost Delaney.

Eric held up the bagwith the piece of bloodied, black fabric.

"What else do we have Jonas?" asked Burk.

"Well, unfortunately, we think that the _perp._, or _perps._ were wearing gloves, because we found no finger prints other than those belonging to the victims." "However, we did find a foot print on the front door, which seemed to have been forcefully knocked off its hinges, and from all indications, we believe that at least one of the murderers were at least five nine, about two hundred pounds, give, or take a few."

"We don't seem to have a lot to go on!" said Connolly. "While at the crime scene, everyone that we interviewed claimed not to have seen anything! They all had amnesia!" he continued.

"OK Men, let's sum up what we do have! We need to put it all into prospective, and come up with a few scenarios about that night! Oh! By the way, we do have one more piece of important evidence! We did find a picture of a little girl, blond hair, blue eyes, it may belong to one of the victims, but then again it may not. Connolly, I want you to look into this! Find the owner of this photo; it could be the big break that will lead us to our killer!" Eric said.

"I'm on it, Jonas!" he said.

Eric continued to lay out all the evidence, as well as a plan of action into some kind of format―the other detectives had no idea how important it was for him to find this killer; they had no idea that he knew one of the victims; they had no idea how close he was to this case.

He had to be careful not to let them know, especially the Captain, because of the encounter, with Tommy when they were young, during the botched robbery of his apartment, the night he shot Frank; Eric's hope was that he remained clueless, other wise, Eric may have been taken off the task force for this case!

_It was time to purge this evil_

I think we can safely assume that at least one of the killers was a male based on the size of the shoe print found on the door, and the fact that it seemed to have been kicked in.

We know that a very sharp knife or tool was used in the stabbings. We have a piece of fabric, not belonging to any of the victims: we are still waiting for the DNA report, it may give us our killers, or at least one of them. We have a murder weapon, and have already matched the bullets to it! More importantly, we know that this was a crime of passion, real, unadulterated passion!

Connolly, Burk, I want you to go back to the crime scene. Scour the neighborhood one more time; maybe we missed someone, or something. Find out if anyone saw anything that may lead us to our killer! Smith, Gordon, I want you on the phones! Follow up on any leads, even if you think it's not important: you just never know! Eric told the men.

"What are you going to do?" asked Connolly, with a smug

look on his face.

"Well, first I'm going to get my nails done." The men looked at him sideways. "Then, I'm going to pressure those snails at the DNA Lab to push a little faster on getting us what we need! We must find this killer, and soon!" I expect you to work twenty-four hours a day! Go out there; comb the streets, the crime scene; see if there was anything that we may have missed! I want this killer found!" Eric continued in a high pitched tone.

He felt every vein tense up in his brain at that moment.

"Take it easy Jonas!" said Gordon. "We're _gonna_ find the sick _SOB_!"

By then, the cable news stationswere all over this case. Phone calls flooded the station house with people claiming to either have committed the murders, or know who did. They checked out every one of them, and came up empty handed every-time.

_There was no shortage of crack pots!_

"Hey Burk, phone call!" said Mindy, the precinct secretary. "She says her name is Mrs. Lynch, and that, she spoke with you yesterday. She said that she just remembered something!"

"Yea, yea! Give me a minute!" said Burk, while he painstakingly tried to remove the remnants of lunch from his teeth with a toothpick, and intensely gawking at the possible leads in front of him, trying to figure out if he had missed anything.

Burk had finally decided to respond to the caller on the other end. However, Eric decided that he would listen in on the call. He signaled to Burk that he would be doing just that.

From the look on Burk's face, the creases which suddenly formed in his forehead, the intense stare focused in his direction, Eric could tell that he was not very happy about it. However, it didn't matter to him what he thought. Eric needed to catch a killer, and that was all that mattered.

"Officer Burk here," he said, responding to the woman on the other end. "How can I help you?"

"Officer Burk?" the woman asked.

"Yes, this is Officer Burk!"

"After you left yesterday, I remembered something!" said Mrs. Lynch. "I thought about it! I just had trouble remembering which night, since I am accustomed to sitting by my window most nights; I enjoy the fresh air, it keeps sickness away!" She said.

"Mrs. Lynch, can you tell me what you remember about that Wednesday night, two weeks ago?" asked Burk, with an obvious sense of irritation in his tone; he rolled his eyes, and looked at Eric for some kind of moral support.

"Well, let me see. I remember I had trouble sleeping that night; the neighbors upstairs were having another one of their ruckus arguments! So, I got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and made myself some warm milk, and sat by my window, which was slightly cracked to let in the fresh air."

"That's great Mrs. Lynch, but can you tell me if you saw anything unusual, or out of the ordinary?" asked Burk, looking even more frustrated.

"Yes, I think so!" she said. "I remember, I think it was 1959, Oh, I was beautiful then―

"What do you think you saw that night Mrs. Lynch?" asked Burk, this time grinding his teeth with a snarling look on his face.

Eric began to anxiously shake his legs underneath his desk with eager anticipation for what Mrs. Lynch was about to say, if only she could keep track of the years.

Connolly barged into the squad room with a wild, anxious look on his face, and rudely interrupted Eric's listening in on Burk and Mrs. Lynch!

"Hey, Jonas! We got something! I had the records department do a thorough search of police records, Jane Doe, missing children, even newspaper reports, and on several occasions, this little girl came up as Tia Biller. She became deceased one year ago!" "Guess how she died?"

"Just tell me Connolly!" Eric demanded.

"She died of a drug overdose! The guys that were murdered were drug traffickers. We checked to see if any of the murder victims were related to this little girl, but we found no relations!"

"So, I guess we have to assume that the photo belonged to the killer; I think that it is safe to say that there was only one!" Eric said.

He could feel the adrenalin beginning to surge through his body; they were getting close, he could feel it!

"Great job Connolly!" Eric said.

Burk ended his phone call with Mrs. Lynch:

I finally dragged the words out of the old lady! She claims, that night she saw a man wearing a black hat, black sweat clothes, 'He looked hard, cold! I could tell because he passed right by my window; I guess he didn't see me because I had the lights out; didn't want nosey folks staring at me sit by my window,' she said. She, also, said that he looked as tall as her son, about five feet nine, kind of stocky―.

A light went off; Eric stopped Burk before he could finish! He remembered the piece of bloody, black, cotton fabric found on one of the victims; he was elated; everything was falling into place!

The photo of the girl, the black fabric, the shoe print, the stabbings aimed at the heart on all the victims, it all seemed to make sense! Eric was right; this was a crime of passion, done by one person, a very angry person! And for him, killing those guys were a sort of payment, retribution, for the death of his daughter.

It was just coincidental that in both cases: the _Kenite_ cult, and the current, that the word Retribution was written in blood! The thoughts began to flow; he knew exactly what he had to do next.

"Connolly, I want you to follow up even further on that photo! Find out if the girl had any living relatives! I want to know everything about them, who they are, where they live, and what they do for a living! I mean everything!"

It did not take longbefore light was on the truth! The next morning, both Connolly, and Burk came back with conclusive evidence about the killings. The copious silence in the squad room could only be penetrated by what Gordon and Connolly had to report.

"I can't believe how easy this was! We were able to identify the girl in the photo found on one of the murder victims as Tia Biller!" Said Connolly. That photo then led us to the girl's only living relative who still lives in this area, Devin Biller, the girl's father! We found out where he lives, and spoke with some of the neighbors, and they said pretty much the same thing, 'Since he lost his wife two years ago, and then his daughter Tia, one year ago, he just has not been the same!' They also said that he rarely leaves his house, except to go to the food market, or liquor store." "So, it looks like we were barking up the wrong tree! Maybe it wasn't the Kenites after all!" said the Captain.

"It's beginning to look like that! But we still can't be sure!" Eric said.

"Also, he had dog, a brown lab; no-one has seen the dog, or heard him for quite a while. They also, said that, he just has been acting very strange!" said Connolly.

"It sounds like this guy may have some serious issues!" said Smith, as he stood in an upright position with his arms folded into each other.

A few minutes later, Mindy walked in to the room with a file in her hands, and handed it to Eric.

"Here is the report from the lab!" she said.

He opened the file with great anticipation.

"We got him! We got the bastard!" Eric voiced loudly.

"What? How?" asked Connolly.

"The DNA report confirms that the blood found on the fabric did not match any of the victims. So, that leaves only one possible conclusion; the blood was that of the murderer! Obviously, he cut himself during his murderous rage! He probably did not feel a thing!"

While they were talking, Burk was able to pull up a DMV photo of their person of interest; their only person of interest.

"This man does not look like he could be a killer!" he said. "Look at his eyes! You can usually tell someone is evil just by the look in their eyes. His eyes, well they seem to be gleaming with happiness! But, then again, what does a killer really look like?"

"I kind a feel sorry for the bastard! First he loses his wife, and then his only kid to drugs! I think that would drive anybody mad!" said Smith.

Trying not to let himself get pulled into the pity club, Eric said, "Let's not lose focus! The guy is a monstrous murderer, and he has to pay for what he has done! Those guys may have been losers, but they were still murdered, and last I checked, that was a heinous crime!"

"Take it easy Jonas! Man! We're not making excuses for the guy! We're just saying that this guy was suffering; that's all!" said Connolly.

"This case was too easy! I think it's obvious that this guy desperately wants to be caught! He was very careless to leave so much evidence behind! I mean, he may as well have left his phone number and address with a note that says, 'I did it'. The whole thing is sad; that's all!" said Gordon, shaking his head in sorrow.

"Ok, men, enough with the pity party! We have a job to do, and a killer to catch! So, let's go do just that," Eric demanded impatiently.

They moved quicklyon obtaining an arrest warrant. Shortly after, Connolly, Burk, Smith, Gordon, and Eric arrived at Biller's home, where they positioned themselves strategically.

The house was the typical red brick, row house that you would find all over Brooklyn.

The small yard located at the front of the house looked like it had been neglected for some time; there were overgrown weeds, and scraps of garbage spread out among the weeds. There was even some evidence that there had been a dog on the premises.

The sky was gray, and it was raining, but Eric welcomed it! He felt as though he was about to go through a cleansing that would wash away his years of torment!

His heart pumped wildly. The thunder bellowed victoriously, like beating drums of war, beating harder, faster as they approached the enemy. Except, in this case, the enemy was one man who held with in him an evil so vile, that it had to be stopped.

Eric signaled to the others, quietly, that they needed to split up into two teams: Smith and Gordon at the back of the house, and he, Burk, and Connolly at the front of the house.

With their guns drawn and cocked; their backs pressed intensely against the wet cold house, making sure not to be directly in front of the door, the adrenalin rushing, they knocked. There was no answer. They knocked again, there was no answer, but they heard some shuffling, signaling that someone was home.

"Open the door. I'm Detective Jonas! We just want to talk to you!"

"Get off my property. Leave me alone, please!" pleaded Devin Biller.

"Please Mr. Biller, this does not have to get ugly! Just let us come in so we can talk with you!" Eric pleaded.

The door remained unopened. Eric signaled to Burk and Connolly that on a count of three, he would kick in the door. And, on a count of three the door was in!

Behind an old, brown, weathered, leather sofa was Devin Biller. He was crouched down, holding a gun, while resting his loaded hands on the top of the sofa! They were at a stand off!

"Drop your weapon!" Eric demanded, with his gun pointed, and in ready position.

"Drop it now!" he demanded again.

"Wait! Wait!" pleaded Devin. "Give me a second!"

He began to cry, hands shaking nervously:

"I didn't know what I was doing! It's just that I hurt so badly!" he said. "They took everything away from me; they took my sweet angel away from me; she was all that I had left in the world! Please, forgive me! I didn't mean to do it! I didn't mean to kill those men!"

He cried out, shaking uncontrollably, still with the gun cocked, and ready to shoot!

He lost control, and _Bam_! The gun went off accidentally! Eric did not know what had happened, or that, he was hit. He woke up in a dream, almost epic, as a witness, an observer of things to come.

**FIFTY-ONE**

_**WHAT'S IN A DREAM?**_

**B**ane sounded the horn of evil:

_**Come, my brothers and sisters, and all who follow me! Come let us plant deeper together all that is evil, so that we may harvest the souls of man! Come let us reave havoc on the earth, until all of men are weak, and desolate. Then, they will turn to us for comfort! Come my children follow me, and you shall have more power, and riches beyond your sight! **_

_And together, they roamed the earth, planting seeds of destruction and despair, planting evil, deeply into the earth's core. They preyed on the weak, and the desperate, invading their minds with evil thoughts, offering them refuge, a piece of mind, offering them_ redemption.

_And in return, in the moment, that pivotal moment of their deepest sorrows, their deepest fears, where rational thinking becomes lost, evil sprouted wildly, like an invasive weed, spreading to every corner of the earth, consuming, devouring every morsel of morality, every fiber of the good heart, the mind, down to the depths of the soul. _

_ He heard the screams of those who were suffering at the hands of evil. He saw the faces of his past: Mary Klein, the woman who_ _killed her husband, Devin Biller in a room with "Retribution" written in blood on white walls, his mother's and father's, his brothers, his face, Shelby's, all the faces burning in a blaze of fire._

_ Gathering strength in mass, transforming into many, evil reared its head: from the most loyal servant who claimed to be a prophet of God, preaching the scriptures on the Sabbath, and on lesser days, he commits the most heinous acts against the innocent, to the young child who tortures his beloved pet, and watches it squeal, and squirm,_ _until it dies a painful death. _

_ There were some who sought immunity from Bane and his followers. They buried themselves in scriptures. And at the moment of enlightenment, they were made safe and pure. But, unless they_ _held the words, the message in their hearts as they went about their daily lives, unless they were able to see through the fog that Bane had put before them, the fog that was meant to confuse them and lead them astray, unless they were able to see the truth and truth only, there would be no immunity from the evil that had rapaciously consumed the earth, and all of its people._

_ It was all around, buried within the deepest caverns of their minds, breathing, gaining confidence of its power over man, waiting,_ _waiting patiently to strike. But there was one whose powers could not be matched. There was One who did not rely on the strength, or weakness of others; there was One who did not prey. Instead, he had amassed within himself the power of all that was good, all that was pure, and had given the gift of his goodness to those who wished to accept it._

_ Seraph summoned all who followed him, though they may not have been the purest of heart, for he knew the fault of humankind. He charged them to go with him to battle Bane and his evil doers. He sounded the horn of justice and of goodness. And all who followed swore to fight, to cleanse the earth, to bring peace; they took an oath to battle evil, even to their death._

_Seraph summoned his most trusted general, Ashana. They called her the Warrior Angel. There she was, brighter than the sun. Her hair was a silvery white and woolen, almost reaching to the lower part of her long thighs as she stood tall and scintillating, while her face glistened in the light. _

_ She boasted a silvery armor that expanded from her waist to her upper torso. She wore a long, whiter than white gown, that reflected the flicker of diamonds as it waved around her white, glittering shoes._

_ Her beauty could only be outdone by her fierce abhorrence for evil. Her only purpose for existing was to fight, to win the inevitable_ _battle against Bane, his evil, and all his disciples: to make the earth more balanced, for evil must never be allowed to overrun Good. _

_ She climbed to the top of a mountain, and with a long golden horn summoned all the good people of the Earth. They came from the north, the south, the east, and the west. _

_They came from different faiths and backgrounds, but they all served that which was good and pure. Some came alone, while others came as an army, but all were willing, ready, ready to fight, to_ _die for Good, and for the good of all men:_

_**Good people of the Earth, hear me now! You are called upon to protect all that is sacred and good, for evil has overrun us. We must fight, scourge the Earth, and make it more good than evil. Bane and his followers: The murders―those who say they murder in the name of God―the rapist of children, and women, the deceivers, whose only purpose is to hurt, dishonor others, men who beat their wives, and feed on their misery, and all the others who seek only to gain from those who suffer, we must seek to limit them, or at least weaken their hold on our souls. Who is with me? She asked in a bellowing voice.**_

_The vast army of Good roared, waving their hands above their heads, saying with one voice, "We are with you! We will fight!" _

"_**Then let us go! Let us spread out to every corner of the earth, and seek them out! Let us consciously, strive to do only that which is good, and call out those who seek to do only evil deeds; let their names be known, whether it is one or many!"said the Warrior Angel.**_

_The army of good doers dispersed with a thunderous roar, ready to challenge Bane and his army. They grouped together as one powerful army, which stretched the entire length of the Earth._

_ The Warrior Angel jumped down from the soaring mountain top on to her silvery white horse. Together, they galloped with lightning speed, as the way was made by the army of Good, to where she would take her place at their helm next to Seraph. Together, they stared down the enemy, showing no fear, or dissent. _

_ Seraph spoke valiantly to the army of Good as his silver horse anxiously danced around in circles to the sounds of the beating drums echoing through the mountains:_

_**We will show no fear, for we are strong! We will crush them! Expose their weaknesses, for evil is weak, and opportunistic. It waits until we are in our most vulnerable state, and then it strikes us, showing no mercy. So, let us ride out as one! Let us ride through them unyielding, and swift! We will not yield! We will not yield!**_

_Seraph stood tall on his horse, showing no fear, ready to face his enemy; he signaled the attack. The Warrior Angel steadied her horse, and summoned The Sword of Retribution. She lifted her golden horn, and sounded the call to battle!_

_"__Chaaarge__!" she ordered, as she, with Seraph by her side, fearlessly sprinted towards the enemy with the army closely behind. _

Eric felt a powerful compelling force. He wanted to join the battle; he wanted to fight on the side of Good, but he was unable to move or speak.

He could see himself watching helplessly from his hospital bed. It was as if he had been watching an epic war movie on a large movie screen. And all he wanted to do was to be in the movie playing his role, but it was not possible.

He was being pulled in emotionally, and could feel his heart pound harder, faster, as Seraph's army moved in closer to the enemy. He had chosen! He had chosen to be good, and to deafen his ears, harden his heart to evil and all its cohorts.

_Seraph's army crashed into the army of evil! They fought endlessly, each trying to undo the other, but before the battle had ended, Eric woke to find his father standing by his bed, leaning over him, looking at him with worry in his eyes:_

_**Son! he said. You need to return to set things straight, to make things right between you and Shelby. I want you to be happy! I don't want you to suffer, to hate, to die in the way that I did! To have your soul in limbo, and never finding peace, I want you to find peace, and forgiveness in your heart! Forgive me! Forgive us Son! I want you to live life filled with love! Show Shelby that you love her; take care of her! Please Son! Promise me that you will fix it! Promise me that you will find some peace, that you won't make the same mistakes that I did! Redeem us Son! Redeem us!**_

He touched his face with his hand, and then slowly faded away.

"Don't go Dad! Please don't leave me again!" Eric cried out.

And once more, he felt alone as his father disappeared into the darkness.

Then suddenly, his eyes were forced open. Images of Peter being stabbed to death by his banshee wife entered his mind; he saw Devin Biller as he furiously cut out Tommy's heart along with the others; he saw Shelby laying on the green sofa with many pink pills in the palm of her hands, and then he saw himself pounding her with his fist, except that his face was not his own. Instead, it had been the face of an evil red eyed monster, with sharp animalistic teeth which were grinding with pleasure.

His body felt like it was being pulled in two different directions: in one direction he saw that evil red eyed monster pulling him, and in the other, he saw the beautiful Warrior Angel who had been fighting with all her strength to free him from evil.

And then it hit! They (we) were, are, under attack! With every fiber of strength with in him, he pulled, he claimed his body, and he claimed his mind away from the evil force which had been trying to claim his soul. He had chosen to be on the side of good. And so, as he did, the evil force had vanished before his eyes.

A cloud of haze filled the room! Eric was able to make out slim images: the sterile white walls peppered with gadgets, and other machinery, the white blanket that was draped over him. The smell of disinfectant and medicines stifled him. But, he was able to make the form of Shelby; he could see her holding his hand, with Jim on the opposite side of her. Connolly, Burk, Smith, and Gordon were holding some sort of vigil around him.

"Where am I?" Eric asked, in a faint, weakened voice.

"He's awake! He's awake!" he heard Shelby say in a high pitched voice, but soft voice.

"I'll get the nurse!" he heard another voice say.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" Shelby asked in a soft, loving

voice, being careful not to arouse him in anyway.

The sound of her voice warmed his heart; he immediately felt life surge through his body, bringing him full throttle back to the world of the living.

"Forgive me Shel! Forgive me! We must win the battle! We must battle for Good!"

"_Shh_. It's Ok! You are in the hospital," Eric heard her say.

"What happened? Where am I?"

He could feel the slight sensation of coldness travel through the veins in his hand, and then a warmth, as Shelby blanketed them with hers.

"Hey Eric, it's Callahan! How're you feeling? Welcome back, Son! We thought we lost you there for a minute! The other guys are here," he said.

"Hey!" said Burk

"Where did you go?" asked Smith.

"We missed you buddy!" said Gordon.

"What happened?" Eric asked again, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Don't worry about that now Eric! When you are feeling better we'll tell you all about it!" said Jim.

"Please, tell me what happened! The last I remember, we were in a stand off: Devin, yes, some guy name Devin. And then, the Warrior Angel came, Seraph, and my dad left me again."

"What happened next? I can't remember anything!"

"We got him Jonas! We shot him dead!"

"Who's dead?" Eric asked.

"Biller! We shot Devin Biller, the Retribution killer!" Jim said, with a perplexing look on his face.

"Dead? He's dead?" Eric asked.

His mind began to become clear; he began to remember the moments before.

"Yes, we shot him after he squeezed out the bullet that hit you in your head! It was a close call Jonas!" said Connolly, his eyes suddenly became glazed over with tears.

"It was a close call, but you made it Son," Jim said.

Eric looked over at Shel, the tears rolled down her cheeks; he wondered if they were tears of joy or sadness. He would not have blamed her if she hated him with every fiber of her body, down to her soul. He deserved it! He was a monster to her; she was better than him. Eric did not deserve her.

"I'm sorry!" he said, with a soft, frail voice.

His body had begun to feel as though it was slipping away to distant lands, and his mind had begun to drift away slowly.

**FIFTY-TWO**

_**FORGIVNESS AND REBIRTH**_

**A**s a married couple, life had been joyful, new, and filled with love, a perpetual honeymoon of sorts, at the beginning of it. But then, like it must, reality reared its head, and things began to change.

It seemed like everyday Unit 21 was getting calls for one gruesome crime after another. It was as though there was an evil, a living breathing evil―at least that was the way it played out in Eric's mind―hiding in dark corners, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And with each crime, it grew stronger; it seemed like not even the most righteous were able to resist; once it got a hold, it did not let go.

After several weeks in the hospital, Eric was home with his wife. He had been consumed by the guilt he felt for the way he treated Shelby.

Something had awoken inside of him. It may have started with the first dream, or the day he saw Tommy's body, or may even after he had been shot and his father came to him in a dream. Nevertheless, the truth had shown itself.

And on this day, he felt compelled to, or something or someone pushed him to speak his heart in the hope that Shelby would find it in her heart to forgive him:

It was my turn. _He said._ This evil that I had tried so hard to resist captured me! It claimed my mind, my thoughts, and my feelings, everything that was me! Worst of all, it woke all the hate, the memories of my past! I lost control! I slept with other women numerous times; blamed you for things that I should not have―.

"Oh Eric!" Shelby said, as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

He was not telling her anything that she didn't already know:

_The numerous times that I found lipstick on his clothing, or the smell of perfume; coming in at all hours of the morning. I knew that he had been cheating on me. However, I felt like there was nothing that I really could have done about it._

"Shelby, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness," he said, this time, crying uncontrollably.

She immediately approached him, and they fell into each others arms. They held each other tightly, as if they had been lost, and had just found each other.

"I think that seeing a therapist would be a good idea for us," Eric suggested.

There was a momentary silence.

"I think you are right," Shelby said, looking at her husband who was finally on his way back home.

"I guess we're both _kina_ crazy, ha?" he asked in jest.

"I guess so," she answered with a faint smile.

"So what do you say we start over beginning with a trip to the mountains?" asked Eric, holding his wife, vowing to never let go.

**FIFTY-THREE**

_**BACK TO WORK**_

"Hey! look who's finally decided to come to work!"said Connolly.

He and Burk had immediately stopped whatever they were doing to welcome him back after three months.

"Hey, Eric! You made it! I thought maybe you would change your mind!" said Callahan, as he playfully patted his shoulder with his swollen hand. "Glad to have you back Son," he said, with a seriousness in his eyes.

"How're you feeling Eric?" asked Smith as he made his approach.

He and Eric had not really connected in the same way as Eric had with Burk and Connolly, but from the look on his face, Eric could tell that he had been really concerned about him in a good way.

"I'm great!" Eric said. "Good to be back…."

"Hey Eric, your desk is the same way you left it, minus all the incomplete reports…they would be a great place to start! You know, work your way in slowly, until you're ready to go back out to the field," said Callahan.

"Ok Cap!" Eric said reluctantly, as he walked over to his desk.

There was nothing he hated more than pushing papers. Eric lived and breathed the streets: the action, the adrenalin rush!

Just as he was about to sit behind his desk, Mindy approached him with her arms filled with files, and a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Here Eric. Just the way you like it: two sugars and crème," she said, as she handed him the hot cup of coffee. "Oh, and here are a few presents for you! Have fun!" she said, and walked away. Eric was not thrilled.

Connolly walked over while he was slowly sipping on his coffee.

"So, what's it like to be back after all this time?" he asked, making himself comfortable on the corning of Eric's desk.

"I don't know yet. But I'm not dying to attack the pile that's on my desk! That's for sure."

"What's been going on around here?" Eric asked. "Cap hasn't really been forthcoming. I guess he thinks I might break."

"Cap really cares about you! It's like you're his Son or something!" said Connolly.

"Yea! I know."

"You never told me the deal between you and him."

"Well, there's not much to tell. He got me out of trouble when I was a kid. You know how kids can be sometimes―you know, street kids."

"So what did you do?"

"Oh, you know, just being a punk. That's all."

Sensing that Eric was uncomfortable talking about his past, Connolly backed off.

"Anyway man, it's good to have you back," he said and walked away.

**FIFTY-FOUR**

_**THE FIELD**_

**T**hree days had gone by.His body felt lifeless, like it had been dying of extreme boredom. The stack of files on his desk had not shrunk much; Eric labored to get through just a few. He began to lose his patients, having to sit at a desk for hours at a time, pushing papers.

That's when the call came in―ten A.M.. There was a hostage situation at a predominantly black university, downtown. The holder, a white male, had not been apprehended.

It brought back the memory of when Unit 21 was called to Lou's Tavern. _As we know, that did not end well._ Lou ended up dead!

He watched the men get loaded up; he watched them arm themselves with protective vest. Eric stood up from his desk. His blood burned with the desire to face evil, and stare it down; his feet felt as though they wanted to run; his heart raced to an undesignated finish line; Eric wanted desperately to join the hunt.

"Hey Cap! I _wanta_ go! Please Jim! I'm ready! I _wanta_ be out there with the guys!" Eric pleaded as Callahan checked his 9 mm, and packed a few more magazines in his pockets.

"Hey Burk! Get SWAT!" yelled Cap, completely ignoring Eric.

"Please Jim! I'm ready!"

Callahan gave Eric a hard stare, and reached in his desk draw for his service revolver, a small semi-automatic, since there was not enough time for Eric to sign a gun out for himself.

"Here. Take this. But listen to me Eric: You are only there for back-up! Back-up! Stay behind! You hear me?"

"Yes Cap! Loud and Clear!" Eric said, as he ran to his desk, grabbed the holster which he had in his desk, placed the gun in it, and ran over to grab a vest.

"Eric ride with me! Let's go!" yelled Cap. And they were gone.

Callahan and Eric got into the squad car as quickly as possible. They rushed through the streets of Brooklyn, with Burk, Connolly, Smith, and other units following closely behind.

The sound of the police sirens, the adrenalin rush, the high, the fast beating of his heart, reminded him of what it felt like to be alive.

"Eric, are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Callahan, as he swerved through the streets. "I want you to be careful Eric! We can't have a close call like we did the last time! You're all I have Eric! You're all I have!"

Eric had never felt closer to Jim than he did that day. That day, Jim was no longer just the cop who felt sorry for him, and took it on himself to look out for him. That day, Jim became more than a friend; he became his true father, the only parent whom had ever given a real _damn_ about him.

**FIFTY-FIVE **

_**THE SCENE**_

**S**WAT was alreadyat the scene when they arrived. The area had already been cordoned off with several miles of crime scene tape; a crowd had gathered outside the area. The university had been ordered to evacuate students and staff.

Soon, they learned that the gun-man had been holding several black students and a few black teachers as hostages in one of the university's lecture halls located in the West Wing.

A few students and faculty were able to escape during the gun-man's rain of fire, though no one had seemed to have been hit, according their account.

In fact, some of the students who had escaped said that the gun-man had been maliciously complaining about losing his country: That, the blacks and immigrants were taking over his country! That, blacks were becoming too powerful, and that they had no right! And, because of the politicians, and universities educating, and giving equal rights to everyone, that, it was going to cause whites to become the poorest minorities! This is not their country! He kept repeating over and over!

After Eric heard what this man had been saying, it made him angry! How dare he assume that he had more rights than any other person! He thought.

_We all came here as immigrants, except for the Indians who were here already! _

It was safe to assume that this gun-man was caught up in his own prejudices and misinformation via certain media groups who were using their bully pulpits to manipulate weak minds in an effort to overrun the opposition.

So far, no one had been seriously hurt. In fact, it was quite possible that the gun-man had only wanted to call attention to him-self, to make his voice heard. However, the fact still remained that he had been holding several people as hostages.

Just as before, Unit 21 followed protocol and called in a hostage negotiator. Browning showed up. Although, Eric had admit to himself that, when he saw him, he had been immediately reminded that he had failed to convince the gun-man who killed Lou to turn him-self in before it was too late. He did not feel confident that Browning would have been able to save the hostages.

"Cap, look who they brought in," Eric said, while hiding themselves safely behind the squad car, waiting for the action to begin.

"Yea, I know. I was just thinking the same thing!" "All we can do is keep our fingers crossed; hope for the best."

_**The gun-man's rant while in lecture hall: **_

_**You people think that you are smarter than us! Well, I got news for you! You are nothing! Nothing! And you will never take this country from us! Over my dead body! You hear me! Over my dead body!**_

The sound of gun-shots shattered every nerve in Eric's body! Jim had said to stay behind, but that wasn't going to work. Especially since he felt like he had an army of ants crawling up his legs! He wanted to move, and needed to get closer to the building to make it easier to enter.

He saw SWAT moving in! So he figured that it was his opportunity.

"Eric! Where the hell are you going?" asked Callahan, quietly yelling.

However, at that moment, Eric exercised his selective hearing rights. There was no time for second guessing.

Callahan reluctantly followed behind. Together, with their upper bodies bent over like four legged animals, they rushed to catch up to the SWAT team, and followed them into the building.

Callahan and Eric made it in to the building. A few minutes after they were in, they had decided not to continue following the SWAT team. Instead, they went in the opposite direction, around the Lecture Hall. It was the longer route, however, they figured, at least, they hoped, that it would pay off. So, they took the chance.

Callahan and Eric rushed, inching closer and closer, until they were able to hear the malicious ranting of the gun-man.

"I'm going to put you back in your place!" he yelled. "I'm going to remind you who is in charge…."

Hidden behind a door, they watched the faces of the terrified students and staff huddled together on the concrete floor, crying, shaking, waiting for death to come, while the gun-man, bald, with pasty skin, waved his semi at them.

He had the perfect vantage point. Eric raised his semi, firmly, with his arms stretched in front of him, his finger on the trigger, and the target in his line of sight and squeezed. With a single shot, the gun-man was dead. He wasted no time; he took the shot.

The gun-man didn't even know what hit him! The gun-man went down immediately, and when he did, the hostages had collectively let out a sudden screech, followed by the release of breath once they realized that the gun-man was dead, and they were safe.

"If you ever go against my command again, I will suspend you permanently!" yelled Callahan. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes Cap!" Eric answered.

He had never seen Callahan so angry, other than when he was the young burglar whom, with his friends, made an attempt to burglarize him in his apartment, and he ended up shooting Frank.

"You could have gotten us both killed!"

"Jim, I'm sorry! I don't know what got into me! Maybe it was being home for too long! I just had to move!"

"Ok! No one needs to know about this. You hear me?"

"Yes Jim," Eric answered, feeling guilty.

_If anything had happened to him, I don't know what I would have done. Eric thought._

"By the way, you did good!" Callahan said, with both his hands on Eric shoulders. "You did good Eric! I'm proud of you."

SWAT did a sweep of the entire building. All the hostages were checked out by paramedics, and all had given their statements to police, some to the media.

By evening, the all clear was given, and everything was back to normal―Browning failed again. However, this time, none of the hostages were hurt, or killed. If only it had worked out that way for Lou.

**FIFTY-SIX**

_**THE PATH HAD BEEN REVEALED**_

_** Christ is eternal Life…. That which was from the beginning which we have heard…of the word of life; for the life was manifested, and we have seen it, and bear witness, and shew unto you that eternal life, which was with the Father, and was manifested unto us….God's light wipes out the darkness…God is light, and in him is no darkness at all….Love one another…. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death…God has given us eternal life. John:1-5**_

Those words; the dream of seraph and the warrior angel, and his father's insistent plea for him to fix things between Shelby and himself had become fixated in his mind. The message was beginning to become clear; the path had been revealed.

It had all made sense to Eric now, because it was true: The re-occurring dreams of two of him, one fighting for good, and the other, for evil.

He was at war with himself and with the entire world. A part of him hated his life, his parents, himself. And the other part loved Shelby, even Jim. Yet somehow, the hate which he felt had spilled over to the one that he loved the most.

_There is some truth to that old adage: You hurt the ones you love the most. _

It was time for Eric to change his life for the better, and, only he had the power. It was time for him to route out the evil which was within him, and replace it with good, at least as much good as he was capable of. It was time for him to become a Warrior Angel in his own right.

He believed that he had an epiphany of sorts: That, his entire life had been some sort of harsh training, a test of will. That, all his suffering had been a tool to prepare him for the real battle to come.

He understood what it was to suffer; he allowed evil to enter his mind, his soul; he got close to the enemy. And with that knowledge, that taste of moral defeat, Eric would use to fight for the good of others, because he had learned what it would take to defeat evil, to win the battle, at least for himself, and for the protection of his soul.

He learned that, by helping his brothers and sisters, doing good for others, being good to his wife would put him on the path to fighting evil. Eric, also, learned that he needed to forgive his father for not being there when he needed him the most; forgive him for the way in which he treated his mother, and forgive his mother for her abuses and drunkenness. But most importantly, Eric needed to forgive him-self, and all of offenses, and start over with a clean heart, and a clear head.

…_**Let all bitterness, and wrath and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you with all malice:**_

_**And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ sake hath forgiven you. **_

_**EPHESIANS: 4:31-32.**_

However, Eric, also, knew that this would be a monolithic task that would be much bigger than him; his shoulders were not strong enough, and he could not do it alone.

As the Warrior Angel needed an army, he also, would need an army, an army of Good. The Warrior Angel used a golden horn to summon her warriors; he would use the powers of the law; that would be his instrument.

This battle between good and evil would be fought, not with weapons in this world, but with will, and the gift of grace: Infinite love, mercy, and goodwill.

_As human beings, we have all received these gifts, and so we must also bestow them onto one another, and strive only to do good, not for ourselves, but for each other, blinding ourselves to the color of skin, origin of birth, or religious affiliation, poverty, and the like._

_It is so much easier to fall under the spell of evil. Doing good is hard work! It takes commitment and sacrifice of our time, and our pleasures in this world! _

_However, if we can not forgo such inclinations as to consciously do evil acts, then we are destined to fail, and evil will consume us all. For evil covetously feeds off such inclinations: The more we hate, the more we feed into evil. It becomes stronger, and spreads like a viral disease, for which there will be no cure._

_Some of us, who hate, try to justify our hate by replacing it_ _with something else. We say things like, " He looks like a criminal, or they are all like that, or he'll never be smart enough" all without cause or evidence, other than the fact that that person is of a certain race, religious background, or other. But the fact is, no matter how we try to justify it, in the end, it is hate, and to hate is to do evil_.

_So we must start now, today, with ourselves. We must be an example to our children, our friends, all those who may benefit from our influence. This is the only way to win this great battle._

That day, Eric felt as if he had passed a gruesome test for the ages. That, he recognized evil for what it was, and had gained the strength to ward it off from infecting his mind, or his families'. He had convinced himself that things would be different, now that he had seen the light, and understood it.

_**God's Light wipes out the**_

_**darkness….John:1:5-10.**_

And for those who had escaped his grip of justice, this he said on to them:

_**The great day of the Lord is near, it is near, and hasteth greatly, even the voice of the day of the Lord: the mighty man shall cry there bitterly. That day is the day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress…because they have sinned against the Lord: and their blood shall be poured out as dust, and flesh as the dung….ZEPHANIAH: 1:14-18**_

**FIFTY-SEVEN**

_**(THE CONGLOMERATE)**_

**I**t was the yearly corporate meeting for the Kenite Conglomerate. Little did Eric know that Phillip, who was Cain could not be brought down by any bullet.

The secrecy and existence of his cult may have been crushed and brought to light in Brooklyn, but the world was a big place, and life and evil didn't start and end in Brooklyn. Eric had found the light and a new path to salvation, but Cain had spread his tentacles through out the land, where he would cause more misery and destruction, more evil.

The meeting was set to take place in Paris at a secret location beneath the city: "Les Carrieres De Paris" several catacombs, quarries, with secret chambers where the dead have laid since the eighteenth century.

Among the walls of human bones― victims of plagues and pestilent; soldiers who died during the wars through the ages; priest and nuns―tucked neatly together like stone and mortar, was a dark, long, wooden table which had been their for many years, mounted with a plethora of exotic foods from different parts of the globe, and surrounded by twenty-one chairs which harkened back to the turn of the eighteenth century, with their dark woods and fine, brocade upholstery.

The boat with nineteen men had arrived from the river Seine through the darkness of the Catacombs, and the stillness of the river, where, on a dark, wet, rocky bank, they were met by Cain who greeted and led them to the eerie meeting room.

"Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. Please have a seat," said Cain, while he seated himself on the twentieth chair, leaving one empty. Adelais Francois would have sat there, had he been alive.

However, he was not missed by Cain, and would have been easily replaced: There were many who seek only power and wealth, even if it meant selling their soul to the Devil. Also, Cain still felt a deep connection to Louisa, and was saddened by her upcoming engagement. Death.

The men who sat around the table―bankers, lawyers, manufacturing moguls, big oil tycoons―represented the wealthiest countries in the world―Peterson and David of the United States, Akihito and Daisuke of Japan, Hedrick and Brom of Germany, Chang and Chun of China, Robert and Henry of United Kingdom, Philippe and Francis of France, and the many others.

Three women, with faces of manikins, ghostly and resolved, lips painted black, dressed in white robes; hoods drawn over their heads, and thick, gold medallions around their necks inscribed with the word Kenite, obediently opened several bottles of the finest Champaign, with which they filled the fluted, gold rimmed glasses, until the tiny bubbles reached the top.

"Come gentlemen, let us drink to wealth and prosperity," said Cain. They all lifted their glasses and sipped on the soul of humanity. "Let us eat to power and immortality, for even when we die, our strength lives on." They fed on the flesh of men.

The feast had ended, and their resolve to weaken minds and break the backs of the less fortunate, all in the name of power and wealth had been sealed.

"Gentlemen, our coffers are almost dry, less than one hundred trillion as of today. We need to increase their quantity," Cain said.

"We have found an ingenious solution," Peterson said.

David added, "Yes" laughing. "We have found that if we buy a multitude of bad mortgages, pool them together, and then insure them for more than what they are worth―"

"We're betting that they will lose their solvency," Peterson said.

"Yes." We will be able to collect triple the amounts we paid for them," said David with a pleasurable grin.

"But, if that happens, won't the housing market crash?" asked Philippe.

Peterson answered coldly, "That's not our concern. Our job is to make money at any cost. That's what we do."

Philippe smiled to demonstrate his acceptance of what was to be.

"We have increased our oil production across the globe. Men are working in twenty-four hour shifts to capture the precious gold. Our speculators are actively increasing its value on the stock market," said Robert.

"Wonderful. What would we do without the stock market," Cain Said as he circled the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

The other men reported their plans for financial domination and therefore, world domination.

**FIFTY-EIGHT**

_**(Back to 2010)**_

**B**oth Samuel and Eric knew their role in this game of Good and Evil. Samuel's role was as a prophet. And, as a prophet, he was charged to spread the word of Good, and to find those whom had been shown to him, to bring them closer to God, and prepare them for the battle to come. Their hearts had to be cleansed from evil, and their minds had to become strong and free from the temptation of evil.

Eric would be a warrior, a Seraph of Souls. Through all his trials and tribulations, he had learned how to battle evil, through the word of God. And with that knowledge, he would take to somewhere near the beginning, where Bane and his children of evil had waged war on humanity through the gateways of time, and join forces with Seraph, and Ashana, and their Warriors of The Light, and Seraphs of Souls from every corner of the Earth through the gateways of time. There the battle would be fought, from the beginning. And, if the battle is won, with Good being the victor, then evil would never have crossed the threshold of time, and it would be as it was in the beginning, where the blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbow dancing to the rhythm of calm seas through, and birds of many feathers singing gloriously and uninhibited would remain as such.

And the Earth, with oceans of lush green and rivers that flowed wildly and purely from mountains that peeked through billowing pillows of white-blue clouds and the brilliant glow of golden spears guided from the heavens, making its mark precisely, where People and animals roomed freely, each knowing their place and purpose on this vast land, would remain as such.

_Evil_ _would cease to exist where it first began._

"So, what should we do now?" asked Eric. "Now that we see our purpose in this."

"Well, I guess I will continue to spread the Good word, and you will continue to do what you are doing, until we are called to do otherwise. They'll let us know; we'll know when the time is right," said Samuel.

**PART-FOUR**

**BACK TO 2010 COURT CASE**

**FIFTY-NINE**

**S**eptember, six months later that year, three in the afternoon, the memory of falling birds, black skies, and golf size hail had mostly faded away. Life went on as usual, and Eric had returned to the courtroom for the closing of the Louisa Westgate murders.

The verdict had finally been made after many deliberations. The Jurors were unable to agree if Louisa Westgate had committed pre-meditated murder, or not.

It was clear that Ms. Westgate was guilty: that, they could agree on, since she had admitted to killing Adelais Francois and Cecile Francois.

She was found guilty on all charges of Murder in the first degree, and sentenced to face death by lethal injection.

_The day of her sentencing would be none like the other._

"Will the defendant please rise," asked the Judge.

Louisa stood tall and proud, with her lawyer next to her, and with a murky smile that showed no guilt or remorse.

"Louisa Westgate, the jury has found you guilty of murder in the first degree of Adelais Francois and Cecile Francois.

You are here by sentenced to death by lethal injection to commence on a date set forth by the courts."

Eric breathed a sigh of relief; _checkmate_. He had held true to his promise, to do all which was in his power to bring evil to justice and justice to the world.

He looked out to the audience, past the galley, and there, with his face burning in flames of anger sat Cain. He eyes, red and glaring, sent a strike of fear through Eric's body. But, Eric stood firm and un-intimidated, because he knew that he had God and Good on his side, and no evil, uninvited, could touch him, even if he died: No, they could not have his soul. Not since the day he gave himself (body and soul) to God and all which was good.

_At least he tried. But, then again he was only human_.

Louisa laughed out loudly with a fog of tears in her eyes. Some members of the court gasped in disbelief. They knew that Louisa had received the sentence which she so deserved.

"Bailiff," called the Judge.

She looked at Eric, piercingly, as Cain joined her at her side; only, they could see him for what he was. Eric had become his arch enemy―one of many. And he vowed to overpower his goodness and bring him back to evil, and to seek retribution ever since the day Eric, with Unit 21 crushed his religious cult in Brooklyn. He would make him pay for his insolence.

_The devil always likes a challenge._

Eric had always felt as though someone, or something was watching, following his every move. And he would be right, because he had become a target, and Shelby, as well.

Five years earlier, during their time of misery, the room, a dark, cold, lifeless tomb. The shadows of evil were lurking, waiting silently, patiently, to devour her: Feeding on her despair. Her pain. Her suffering. Growing stronger day-by-day, breathing with assured anticipation, telepathically summoning her to doom.

Suffocatingly small, allowing only enough space for a few pieces of furniture here and there, evoking times past when many of the buildings in Brooklyn boasted elaborate details, the room had begun to close in on Shelby, and melancholy had become her best friend.

The white walls were sparse. Only a single wedding photo of the once happy couple hung lopsided, barely holding on. Stretched out on her green sofa, Shelby looked at death in the form of pretty pink pills that rested in the palm of her hand, as though it were a familiar place; they had belonged there.

Thoughts of the present and past rushed through her mind, blinding and perplexing, transporting her to a dark place, a place where there can only be despair, only death:

_**EVERY morning has become a ritual of "it's a new day," a new beginning, another chance to become the person that I imagined myself to be, perfect in the eyes of my family and myself.**_

_**Every morning has become a day of looking into the mirror and thinking of a thin me, a taller me, a stronger me, a better me.**_

_**And, every morning, I go through a ritual of self-doubt and insecurities, and each night, I find myself on that green sofa, compelled to fain and to give in to despair, for it has captured me in every way imaginable. **__**Here I lay, day after day,**__** h**__**our after hour ,minute after minute.**____**My frail, motionless body, enveloped by the comfort, and warmth of my Green Sofa.**___

_**My mind wonders near and far. My eyes fixated on the idyllic, motionless box ,**__**c**__**ompletely encapsulated and disconnected**__** f**__**rom my reality,**__** i**__**n awe of, and symbiotically living**__** t**__**hrough the parade of false, shallow lives.**____**Yet, Comforted by the warmth of my Green sofa.**___

_**My mind tells me to get up!**____**My body is trapped, paralyzed by fear and comfort,**__** b**__**y the what ifs of life,**____**trying to fight, to win the battle of self and mind.**____**Fighting, loosing, fighting, loosing,**____**day after day, after day, hour after hour, minute after minute.**__** With m**__**y body is still comforted by the warmth of my Green Sofa,**____**as life and live slowly fades away.**_

_**I feel separated from my body, suspended in time and space. My body feels numb. I can feel life painlessly, and slowly slipping away from me. I am dying slowly, but surely inside. Surprisingly, I am not afraid, but instead, I feel comforted by the warmth of my Green Sofa. My body is completely and unequivocally capsulated by its warm embrace.**_

_**I am slipping away; falling steadily, sliding, sliding, down an endless slope! I must brace myself! Stop! But, I can't; head spinning, heart racing, racing to lose a losing battle.**_

_**All the good times and the bad times are a thousand times illuminated brighter than the North Star; the truth has spoken, and I must see it! I have no choice but to face it! It will not let me look away and pretend that it does not exist!**_

_**Who will take my hand, and help me find my way home? Who will help me to awaken from this terrible nightmare that is holding me hostage, this thing, this enslaver, this peremptory thing that is draining my soul? Who will help me to find the strength to break free, lift my head, stand, and hold my ground? For I must, I must be strong, I must, because I will die inside, and out if I don't!**_

_**I want to live. I want to feel alive again; to feel the cool mountain breeze on my skin, the pumping of adrenalin through my veins as I climb to the top of the Appalachian Mountain; to live the life that I once had, where I was sure of who I was, and where I was going!**_

_**Despair is my name now, not Shelby. I own it, and I own it well. She is swiftly becoming a distant memory, a name on the tip of the tongue, a fable told by Grandmothers to unsuspecting children, lifeless, bloodless, and invisible to all! The assimilation is almost complete! It will not be long before Despair completely consumes and devoirs her very soul!**_

_**I want my life back. I want to be that fearless woman that I once was, who was not afraid to take life by the horns, and just ride; ride free and unequivocally in command of my world un-wavering, confident, standing on the edge of a rock, sixty feet off the ground, firmly and securely.**_

_**What happened to that woman? Where did she go? Will she ever be able to find her way back from that void of perpetual unhappiness, where she is aimlessly wondering in a world that is not her own completely, and utterly lost to her-self, sucked up by a black hole so deep and devoid of life?**_

_**I hear an echo, or a voice, faint, but desperate, telling me, "You must live. You must live for her." I cannot explain the voice that I am hearing, or what it means by "live for her," but I feel as though I must listen to this voice. I am compelled to do so.**_

_**I tell myself, that I must find the strength to break free of this possessive darkness that has such a strong hold on me! I must reach deeply with in the depths of my very being; lift my head, stand, and hold my ground. **_

_**I must find a way to return to the life that I once lived, loved, and fulfilled my purpose for living. I must find a way to survive this turmoil that is guiding me into the place where there is no return from the daily ritual of dying, and living, dying and living, just to die again the next day. I long for the days when I loved life and it loved me back!**_

In the afternoon of that day, it was warmerthan expected for a late fallday in October. The skies were clear, boasting vibrantly its many shades of blues. The sun's rays extended brilliantly, accentuating the awesomeness of an already awesome day in Brooklyn.

Shelby had already rested her two bags of groceries on the weathered gray, wooden park bench, and sat down to take in the beautiful panoramic views of the park.

She sat there in silence, thinking about how far Eric and she had come since they last had a fight, one month, and three days.

It made her smile. A feeling of contentment and a wisp of hope had filled her, deeply.

She had hoped that the nightmare was over; that, Eric and she would finally be able to put all the ugliness behind them, and move to just loving each other again; that, Eric would be able to treat her with respect as his wife, a woman, as a human being, who was capable of feeling pain inside and out.

A spirit moved inside her, driving her to imagine a hopeful future for the two of them, and for their marriage. She imagined herself living a life that other women took for granted.

The simplest things such as having lunch with some girlfriends, or maybe a girl's night out at the local hot spot, or perhaps shopping for clothes at one of the big, fancy department stores, with money that she, herself, had earned without needing Eric's permission to spend it; it would have made her feel like the happiest woman on Earth.

But, that was not to be. As it stood, for the moment, she had to be content with folding and ironing clothes, cooking, cleaning and pleasuring Eric whenever he asked for it. That was her life then, day after day.

A flying Frisbee had landed by her feet, breaking her deep thoughts. As she bent over to pick it up, she noticed a little girl, with radiant red hair blowing in every direction behind her, running towards her, smiling, taking joyful leaps and bounds.

The little girl stopped abruptly in front of her, breathless, with her hand extended, smiling and beaming brightly.

"Here you are," Shelby said as she handed the Frisbee back to her.

She could not help noticing how happy the little girl seemed, smiling from ear to ear.

_Maybe, just maybe, we will be able to have a child of our own one day. _ She thought.

She was ready to try again, even after the painful loss of their first child.

"Thank you," said the little girl, as she turned around, and dashed away in leaps and bounds ready to resume her Frisbee game.

Shelby sat on the park bench for quite a while, absorbing the exuberant energy which came from all which had surrounded her: from the couples holding hands while they walked, laughed and kissed playfully; to the birds singing joyfully while basking in the sun light; to the easy rocking of the trees as they shimmied and _shaked_ their branches, outlining the sky, making it a beautiful backdrop above the cruel world, some naked, some clothed with fall leaves of orange, red, and yellow, while they danced joyfully to the songs of nature, and sent the cool fall winds spiraling through the air.

For the moment, she lived through them existentially, coexisting, sharing their exhilaration and their zeal for life. For the moment she felt a gush of happiness fill her core: Her body felt light as though she had been floating on air.

"Gorgeous day, hah!" said a man, tall dark brown hair, quite handsome, as he sat next to her, interrupting her spiritual oneness with nature.

"Yes, it is," Shelby replied with a smile, trying not to appear rude.

"Look at everyone! They all seem so happy!" he said, making himself more comfortable on the bench, seeming to inch closer to her.

Shelby had begun to feel a little uncomfortable, so, she did not respond.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Let me introduce myself: My name is Phillip," he said, with a weird grin on his face, and his hand extended.

However, Shelby was a little hesitant, but she extended her hand out of courtesy, "I'm Shelby," she said.

"This park is great! I've been coming here since I was a kid." "I have not noticed you here before; did you just move here?"

Shelby was a little thrown back.

"I'm sorry! That's none of my business is it?"

"Oh, it's ok!" she said. "I've lived here for quite some time."

"I would have noticed such a beautiful face," said Phillip, staring intently into Shelby's brown eyes.

She felt a hot rush of embarrassment flow through her, "It's just that I don't get out much. I mean, to come to the park."

"You must have a tight schedule?"

"Sort of," she said, knowing that the only schedule which she had to keep was to make sure that Eric's coffee was ready when he got home; that, his breakfast was ready when he woke up in the mornings, and that, his dinner was ready for him whenever he decided to have it.

Shelby looked at her watch; it was six in the evening. Time had escaped her; the sun's rays were no longer brilliantly blinding and warm; the blue sky had become a manifold of peach, pink, and orange.

The branches of trees had begun to dance with more vigor and purpose, while sending the cold breeze, which began to make her feel as though she had just woken up from a beautiful dream, and immediately was being thrust back to a world where she did not belong.

She had forgotten, completely, about the two steaks, wine, and the other items, which she purchased, hoping to make Eric a special dinner for their eleven-year anniversary.

"I'm sorry, but it's getting late. It was very nice to have met you Phillip," Shelby said.

"Maybe we will see each other again," he said, as she turned her attention to the bags on the bench.

She grabbed the bags, and with nervous haste, exited the park, leaving behind the jubilance of life, which she had so readily slathered herself in.

Behind her was the voice of a man, who empathetically shouted over and over again:

_Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass._

_Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth. _

_ Psalm 37:7-9_

However, what she had not known was that evil had followed her home that day.

Those spoken words played in her mind as she approached her apartment building on Flatbush Avenue. She had noticed Eric's squad car parked at the curb in front of it.

Shelby had not realized that she had stayed so long at the park― for most of the afternoon―just sitting and watching others bathe in the ecstasy of life.

She hurriedly opened the worn, double, wooden doors with white peeling paint, entered into the expansive lobby of the building, and anxiously waited for the elevator.

The tenth floor button lit up, the elevator stopped for a few minutes. The eighth floor button lit up, the elevator stopped for a few minutes. It seemed to stop at every floor, and each time, rattling its antique iron cage door which, intern, rattled every nerve with in her body.

She became increasingly impatient, and pressed the white elevator button persistently, while _shuddering_ her legs like a sixteen-year-old girl, who had missed her curfew.

Shelby bit down on her bottom lip nervously. The weight of the bags in her hands had begun to weigh her down.

She scuttled towards the stair access door, and began the steep climb three floors up the black and white tiled steps. One-step at a time she took, breathlessly, and with nervous anticipation, feeling as though she had been climbing Mount Olympus.

With lifeless, wiry legs, Shelby stopped at the top of the stairs, and tried to get a hold of a second wind. She stood there for a few seconds in silence, just looking at the drab gray door which stood before her.

She opened the access door, being careful not to drop the bags which had been filled with groceries, and walked, feeling drained, and defeated, to her apartment.

As she tried to balance the two bags in her hands, at the same time fumbling around in her pockets for the keys to her apartment door, the door opened abruptly. Her heart skipped several beats.

"Where the hell have you been?" Eric asked aggressively.

He grabbed her by the hand, causing the bags with groceries to fall, breaking the bottle of red wine. He pulled her into the apartment, squeezing her wrist so tightly that, she felt as though he would rupture her fragile veins―her blood had reached the freezing point of fear.

"I called all afternoon! I even called your cell!" "Answer me, where have you been?" Eric demanded with jarring eyes that looked crazed and perverse.

"I, I―"

She had been unable to utter a single word; her body, her mind had been frozen. Before she could muster up the strength to explain, Eric had begun to slap her face fiercely, back and forth, as though he had been playing a savage game of ping-pong; blood began to trickle from the sides of her mouth.

"You slut!" he yelled. "I've been working all day, while you were out there carrying on! "Is that what you were doing? Is that why you couldn't hear your cell phone ring? You were too busy riding some guy! "You make me sick to my stomach!" He yelled, while he slapped her even harder.

"Eric, please! You don't understand!" "You don't understand!" she insisted, with tears rushing down her cheeks.

However, his ears were closed. He refused to listen, or even to think rationally. It was as if suddenly, he had become possessed by an evil so vile and penetrating, that in order to gain more strength, it perpetuated the pain, anger and suffering which had afflicted them both.

_Eric had been convinced that he had it all right. _

Shelby became enraged beyond her control. This rage boiled up inside of her, and then, spewed out uncontrollably like lava from a mountaintop.

She lifted her leg, and kicked Eric in the shin. He pulled back, and grabbed a hold of his injured leg.

"You crazy Bitch…" he yelled, with more anger and contempt.

He recovered quickly, and then, threw her up against a wall, pressing, forcing his forearm underneath her neck. Unable to breathe, panicking, feeling her life force slowly slip away, she kneed him in the groin.

Eric immediately winced, grabbed a hold of his groin area, and fell to the floor. Shocked by what she had just done, she reached down to help him.

"Get a way from me, you crazy Bitch…" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was trying to tell you―"

She could hardly get the words out of her mouth, while taking short breaths, and trying to peel her long sweaty hair which had been blotted with blood, out of her mouth, she explained:

I went to the store, and bought us a couple of steaks, and wine to celebrate our anniversary tonight. On the way home, it was such a beautiful day, I decided to stop by the park; it was on the way home!

I sat down for a while, by myself―omitting the fact that she had engaged in a conversation with a man. I wanted just to breathe the fresh air, and just enjoy the day. I lost track of time, that's all!

There was a sound at the door, almost as if someone had their ears pressed to it, listening to every word.

"Why don―" Eric said as he quickly opened the door to surprise the would be ease-dropper, but when he did, no one was there.

_Had he known that evil was at that door, waging him on, taking pleasure in his displeasure, he would have seen the truth then._

Eric closed the door and looked away from Shelby. He felt dim-witted and embarrassed, though, he was unable to admit that he had made a terrible mistake.

He, very slowly, had begun to pick up the broken pieces of glass, as Shelby reluctantly made her way to the kitchen for some paper towels.

Laid out on the kitchen table were a dozen red roses, the ones that had erased the scent of stale blood earlier, and brought sweet memories to Eric's heart, and the biggest box of chocolates, all dressed up with a glittering red ribbon, and next to it was a white envelope addressed to "My Beautiful Queen." Eric had remembered their anniversary.

_That explains why he was so upset._ Shelby thought.

With her hands pressed against her bleeding mouth, Shelby stared at the roses, and then picked them up―staining them with her blood.

And, as she drew them close, pressing them against her nose, she thought, how could something so sweet smelling and beautiful bring nothing but feelings of pain to my heart? Just like Eric.

She left the box of chocolates, and the white envelope unopened, and struggled to breathe; she had become overwhelmed with emotions.

Confusion filled her mind, not knowing weather to be happy that he had remembered their anniversary, or to despise Eric for what he had just done. She felt both hate and love at that moment, and was at a crossroad of life's oxymoron, and she did not know which one to take.

With paper towels in hand, Shelby returned, only to find Eric on his knees picking up the rest of the broken glass. She kneeled beside him, and together, they quietly cleaned the floor.

They made no eye contact, or uttered a word, but she knew that he had been remorseful for what he had done, just by the poignant look in his eyes.

That night, Shelby recovered the steaks, washed them, and prepared them just as she had planned, except, there was no wine.

And after removing the treasures that were laid out on the small table, and placing them on the counter top, pretending not to be moved in anyway, pretending not to be happy that Eric had remembered their anniversary, she very gracefully began to dress the table with the finest paper napkins, the most beautiful white ceramic plates and glasses rimmed with shiny high fashion gold plate, all of which were set upon a crisp, white linen table cloth, a wedding gift.

They sat and ate in near solitude. Things were pretty tense; she didn't really know what to say, and guessed, he did not either. Eric looked up slightly at her; however, she pretended not to notice.

He looked at her again, only longer with pleading eyes that begged for forgiveness; but, again, she pretended not to notice. Finally, he put his cutlery down, took her hands, forcing her to release her own cutlery, and stared intensely into her unforgiving eyes.

"I love you," he said. "I am such an idiot…."

Shelby fluttered her eyes intensely, trying to hold back the veil of gloss which covered them. She tried to convince herself that that was the last time; that Eric had been sorry, and that he would never hurt her again. But, deep inside, she knew that that was only wishful thinking.

"You tell me that you love me, but yet you beat me; you hurt me inside and out! I don't understand why!" she said, fervently.

"I know! I promise this was the last time! I swear! I'll never hurt you again!"

"Eric, I want to believe you, but we have been doing this for so long! Actually, even before we got married. Do you remember the first time that you hit me?"

"No!" he answered, but his tone said different.

"Well, I remember. It was because you thought that I had been cheating on you with my friend from high school? I believed you then when you said it would be the last time! I don't know if I can take it anymore."

"Shel, look at me! I promise I'll never hurt you again! I love you! You are everything to me! Please forgive me!"

And, just as she did the last time, Shelby gave into him physically and emotionally.

**SIXTY**

**(ONE WEEK LATER)**

Shekept thinkinghow nice it was to have a conversation with someone, just to have a conversation, like the one that she had in the park a little over a week before with Phillip, even though she felt a little awkward.

Although she didn't think about it at the time, it felt good knowing that someone found her interesting enough to want to sit by her and talk.

Eric had already left for the day, and Shelby was going mad sitting in the apartment, listening to the ambulances in the distance, the neighbor's television, and the constant hissing of the radiator.

She walked over to the window in the living room, and watched the cars rush by, splashing water that had settled in the street from a sudden downpour on to pedestrians.

There were people walking briskly in every direction, some with umbrellas, and some with dripping clothes (a cat ran across the street) who seemed to be locked in their own realities.

She watched life happening, while she was locked up in a prison, and dead to the world.

The rain had stopped, and the skies had become clear, like it had never rained. Not being able to withstand it anymore, Shelby had decided to put on a warm jacket and join the living.

For a few minutes, she walked just on her block, but for some reason, she found herself walking towards Prospect Park. It was as if something or someone had willed her there.

The park was beautiful, and full of life just like it had been the last time that she was there; the cold did not seem to be a hindrance.

With her arms intertwined, she walked around idly for a little while, just breathing in the crisp clean air, forgetting for a moment her troubled life, until she ended up on the same park bench which she sat on the last time.

And just as she did the last time, Shelby allowed the positive flow of energy generated by the happy couples in the park―laughing, loving, the laughter of children as they played―to pass through her, filling her entire being with joy, though be it temporary.

"Come here often?" asked the tall dark stranger, Phillip, sending a nervous thrill up her spine.

She did not answer at first. Instead, she looked at him as though she had not recognized who he was.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I guess you don't remember me! I'm Phillip; we met the last time you were here on this very same bench! Remember?"

"Oh yes! Now I remember! Shelby said, trying very hard not to give herself away.

"And you are Shelby! I can never forget such a beautiful face!" he said.

She felt embarrassed. It had been a long time since anyone had told her that she was beautiful. She felt him searching her body with his eyes, trying to imagine the form that was underneath the thick windbreaker.

"May I join you?" he asked.

The last time, he had made himself comfortable without asking!

_Why ask now?_ She wondered.

"Um, sure!" she replied, with some hesitation.

"So, what brought you out here today?" he asked.

"Well, I was feeling a little bored, so I figured that the fresh air might do me some good."

"Ah, I see," he said. "And is it?"

"Well so far."

"And, what about you? Why are you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be working or something? she asked, with an impertinent smile.

"Well this is where I come to eat lunch on my break."

Shelby had not noticed the white paper bag by his side, until he brought it to her attention. At that moment, she felt a little foolish.

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked.

"I'm a computer engineer," he said, as he wrestled the tightly wrapped sandwich out of the bag.

"What about you? What kind of work do you do?"

Shelby felt herself searching for the right answer. Meaning that, she wanted to make up some sort of fictional career for herself. She wanted to say something impressive. However, she was unable to settle on any one thing.

"You look like you could be an architect, or something artsy" said Phillip, waiting for a response from her.

"Well, not really," she said. "I don't work. Actually, I'm just a housewife."

"So, you're married."

"Yes, I'm married," she said looking down at the obvious wedding band on her finger.

"Why do you say that you are just a housewife? That's a hard job. My mother was a housewife. And I remember how worn out she used be taking care of me and my three other siblings and my father who never showed any appreciation for her hard work."

"Well," she said with some hesitation. "It's just that I wish that I had a career. You know, be somebody."

"I hope that I'm not being too presumptuous, or too bold, and please let me know if I have over-stepped my boundaries, but I have to ask. Why do you feel like you are nobody? Forgive me. I am not a psychologist, but I'm just curious, that's all."

Phillip had embarrassed her. Strangely enough, she felt like she could trust him. And she had been bursting at the seams to tell him her life story. But she held back.

"Phillip, I don't want to burden you with my problems," she said, holding her head down. "I'm sure that you've got more important things to think about."

"I―" he began to respond.

"What about you! Are you married?" she asked before he could say anything further.

"Yes…."

"And your wife: Does she work?"

"She's a Hedge fund Manager. But she is more married to her job than she is to me," said Phillip.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Shelby said, feeling badly about asking him about his wife, but she thought that it was only fair, since he did asked her about her life.

"O don't be," he said. "Want a half? It's roast beef and Swiss on rye."

"Sure! Thank You!" she said, as she accepted the half of his sandwich, which she would not have under normal circumstances. However, she felt comfortable with Phillip, although they had not known each other for very long.

For almost two hours, they sat, ate, laughed, and inquired about each others lives. In one afternoon, Phillip had become a friend. He had become a friend with whom she could share her thoughts.

They had been driven to the park for the same reasons, so she thought: To get away from their miserable lives; to feed off the joy of others; and perhaps, to find each other.

**S****IXTY-****O****NE**

_**(TWO WEEKS LATER)**_

**E**ric and Shelby hadanother awful fight that morning. He staggered into their apartment about four in the morning; he smelled badly of alcohol and cigarettes.

There were lipstick stains on his chin, and when Shelby questioned him about it, he became enraged.

"Mind your fucking business…" he yelled as he struck her hard in the face, and then, staggered off to bed, where he fell asleep almost immediately.

She knew that he had been cheating on her; it wasn't the first time. But there was nothing that she could really have done about it.

She had no job, no money; she was stuck. Mostly, she pretended not to know, but all the signs were there. However, it had been the first time in which she had seen lipstick on his chin. It was in plain sight, and pretending that it wasn't there would have been impossible.

Still, there was nothing that she could have done. At least, that was what Shelby had convinced her-self of. So, she did the next best thing: cried her tears, swallowed her pride, and went to bed.

Later that morning, when Shelby woke from a restless night, Eric had already gone for the day. The smell of the rancid mix of alcohol and cigarettes lingered still. She became enraged, remembering what had happened earlier.

Shelby climbed out of bed, and paced like a misguided wonderer. She held her stomach firmly, because it felt as if it wanted to escape through her mouth. She ran to the bathroom, bent over the sink, and regurgitated her rage.

She raised her head to look at her flustered face in the small mirror, and noticed the blue, black swelling on the side of it. A revengeful beast, ugly and odious had arisen in her, smothering any goodness that was left.

Her thoughts scrambled, not knowing which direction to go. So, she grabbed whatever she could find―a dirty pair of jeans, a wrinkled t-shirt, her coat―and darted out of the apartment, leaving the door unlocked.

She didn't even wait for the elevator to come up. Instead, she ran like a horse on a track down the flights of stairs, still not knowing where she was going to end up.

Once she opened the heavy door to the outside, all the steam that she had built up had begun to dissipate. Still, she did not want to be near that apartment, or any place that would have reminded her of Eric.

Naturally, Shelby started to go in the direction of the park; it seemed to be the only place where she had been able to forget about her troubles and restart her batteries. And, a part of her was hoping that Phillip would be there, although, she doubted it, because it was still early.

She ended up there, anyway. And just as she was about to pass under the arched stone entry, Shelby saw Phillip from the peripherals of her eyes.

She turned around; they made eye contact. Almost telepathically, he knew that she was in trouble, and that she needed him.

_At least, that's what she had convinced herself of._

Almost instinctively, they sprung into each others arms, holding on, not wanting to let go of the comfort they shared.

Shelby began to cry; the tears were unstoppable. Phillip held her even tighter, stroking her hair, caressing her back, even as others looked on, but they did not care. They both needed each others comfort at that moment. And that was all that mattered, then.

"What happened to your face?" asked Phillip, as he held her sobbing face in his cold hands.

At first she hesitated to answer. She tried to calm herself, bring herself back to reality to tell herself that this man was not her husband, and that she did not belong in his arms.

But the anger in her had been so overwhelmingly strong, that she only, wanted to get back at Eric in one form or another.

"Eric hit me this morning," she said, with a frail voice, as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"That bastard! Why?" asked Phillip.

"Well, he came in really late this morning, drunk, with lipstick on his chin. And when I asked him about it, he hit me and told me that it was none of my business!" Shelby said, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hands and sniffling like a little girl.

"I'm so sorry!" he said. "I'm so sorry that you have to go through this!"

"It's ok!" _But, was it really?_

"No! It's not ok! Any man who feels like he has to hit a woman is not a man at all! He's just a punk, a weak punk!" said Phillip with conviction.

"Hey! How come you're here so early anyway?" Shelby asked.

"Oh, I had a bad night, and a bad morning myself," answered Phillip.

"I'm sorry! What happened?"

"Joy didn't come home. She claims that she was stuck on a project, an all night project."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, I think I know what kind of project she's been working on. I think that she believes that I'm a fool! But I'm about to show her what kind of fool I am by asking for a divorce!"

"A divorce! You really want to do that?"

"Yes! I've been thinking about it for a while now! That's one reason why I come to the park so often! I can clear my head here!"

"What's the other reason?"

"Well, the other reason is to hopefully see you," he said, with a deep wanting look in her eyes.

She felt herself beginning to blush. The anger which had been with her moments before had suddenly turned into lust. She wanted to be with Phillip.

"What do you say we go to my place; I'll make you breakfast." Phillip suggested.

Shelby wanted to say no; she knew that was, or should have been the right answer. But at that moment, she wanted to be with him. She knew that she would be getting more than breakfast, but she needed Phillip's comfort.

"Ok."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she agreed.

Phillip lived only a short distance from the park, virtually across from it. They arrived at the apartment building, the typical tall, red brick building. He was about to open the glass doors, but Shelby pulled back on his arm.

"Wait." she said.

"What's wrong?" he asked, with a disappointed look on his face.

She hesitated to answer. The feeling of guilt had suddenly filled her, and the full force of anger had almost disappeared. It was no longer the driving force for her to be with Phillip.

"Nothing," she said, with a smile. "I'm fine."

They boarded the empty elevator: Most people had already left for work. So, they were alone, six flights up. Phillip had her pinned in a corner of the elevator.

Her senses had become intoxicated by the sweet smell of sandalwood and spice. His warm breath, cooled with hints of peppermint, sent shivers up her spine, as he pressed his lips to hers, with a deep passion that could only come from lust.

And she, in return, kissed him passionately, lustfully; they were at the point of no return.

He opened the door to his apartment, still with her in his arms. The door had hardly closed behind them when they found themselves on his sofa, peeling one piece of clothing at a time: he had undone her jeans and pulled them off; she, in return, first pulled off his jacket, and then his thick sweater; he pulled off her coat, and then her wrinkled t-shirt. Moments later, they were one.

_Was it destiny?_

Hours drifted by. The thought of Eric had not entered her mind, his beatings, sudden out-burst of rage, madness. That day she was in a different world, and was happy while she was there. But they hadn't seen it coming!

In their heated rush to lust, they had not realized that the door was left un-locked and slightly opened. While Phillip and Shelby, he on top, were passionately exchanging kisses, they heard a loud cry.

Startled by the unexpected arrival of his wife, Joy, Phillip had immediately jumped to his feet―un-clothed, completely caught by surprise―and turned around to find Joy shaking with her hands to her lips, leaving Shelby to die with shame and embarrassment.

Caught in an awkward position, her hands over her face, trying to hide her shame, trembling, feeling as if she could, or would burst into immediate combustion, she gathered a little strength, grabbed all of her peeled clothing―shaking, crying, feeling foolish―and navigated her way to where she thought a bathroom, a closet, just anywhere they were not, so that she could get dressed.

She made her way to a small powder room, where she listened to Phillip trying to explain to Joy why he was with another woman.

"How long has this been going on?" she heard Joy ask Phillip, yelling and crying.

"This is the first time!" "I swear!"

"This is what you said the last time with the last whore that you slept with! You said it was the first time, and that it would be the last time!"

Shelby felt like such a fool! To think that she fell for whatever Phillip had offered her! He had been no better than Eric! She wanted to jump out of a window!

Speaking of windows! There was a small window in the powder room. And from it, a fare amount of the park could be seen; the bench which she sat on when she visited was quite visible.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it! How could I trust you again?" yelled Joy.

"I want you to get out! Get out of my apartment, get out of my life!"

Shelby could not stand it anymore! She got the nerve up to open the door, and snuck out of the apartment, leaving Phillip and Joy to a ruined marriage. She ran breathlessly, almost all the way home that afternoon.

And, as soon as she had entered the apartment, making sure that the door was locked, she stripped her clothes, discarded them in the trash, for fear that Eric may pick up Phillip's scent or notice something; she really wanted to burn them along with all the guilt which she felt, but it was impossible.

After all of that, she decided to take a shower. While she stood there with the warm water beating down on her head, the full breath of what she had done had overwhelmed her with emotion. Shelby began to cry hard and deep, so deep that she was forced to hold her stomach.

It pained her to know that she was responsible for another persons suffering; that she was responsible for the break up of a marriage even if Phillip was a dog, figuratively. But most of all, it pained her because she knew that whatever she had with Phillip was over. The brief moment of happiness had faded away.

The painful cry of Joy when she first saw the two of them lustfully intertwined, and the pain that she saw in her eyes will be fixed in Shelby's mind forever.

She felt so ashamed, ashamed because she felt like a cheap whore, ashamed because she was so naive as not to have seen through Phillip, and ashamed for giving herself to another man.

Shelby wanted to end it, end the shame, the hurt. The thought of suicide had entered her mind.

_I'll swallow a few pills, lay myself out on the green sofa, and just drift away painlessly, peacefully. _She thought_. _

But, she could not end her life. Something stopped her.

_What? Perhaps we'll never know._

_Yes._ _Cain was Phillip. And, he had played his hand masterfully, and won, hands down._

However, his evil tricks had not ended there. Cain was determined to take everything away from Eric; he was determined to ruin him, to twist the knife in his heart.

**S****IXTY-****T****WO**

_**(THE FOLLOWING DAY)**_

**S**itting on the edge of her bed, head down, shoulders dropped, disappointed to see the light of a new, still with the memory of Phillip's touch, and the screeching cry of Joy, Shelby felt as though she had been crumbling to pieces.

She gathered the strength to pull her-self up from the green sofa and made her way to the bathroom. There, facing the mirror, looking back at the stranger with light, brown, long hair, and specs of gray draping through it; sad, gloomy, dark eyes that seemed to disappear into the abyss, she asked herself, "why did I live to see another day?"

She felt lost, confused about her feelings for Phillip; the taste of his lips, the sweet smell of sandalwood and spice were all still fresh in her mind. Although temporary, for the short while that she shared with him, she felt wanted, valued, though it was not real; she had just been another conquest for Phillip, another desperate soul.

_However, what she didn't know was, that Phillip, who was really Cain had been vying for her soul all along. _

A terrible feeling had come over her! She felt panicked, like she had nowhere to go, trapped in a nightmare. And, as she leaned quietly against the bathroom entry, looking down at Eric, she began to question her purpose for living:

_This nightmare I call a life; this hell hole, what in the world did I do to deserve this? Why didn't I die in my sleep? I would have felt nothing! I could have just slipped away painlessly and freely! But instead, I wake up to this bastard who calls himself my husband―I wish I was dead! Look at him sleeping so peacefully! Who gives him the right to sleep as though he has nothing to be sorry for, no repentance, or remorse! _

Staring intently at Eric, she was beginning to notice certain changes; evil was beginning to take control of his physical features. The lines around his eyes seemed to burrow themselves deeply, forming caverns that meandered their way around and up to his sweaty forehead.

His eyes danced around wildly, like they were trying to find their way through the dark of hell; he seemed lost.

Shelby thought perhaps, he had been dreaming of different ways in which he would make her suffer:

_perhaps he'll bind my hands behind my back, and tell me to make him supper, and then, when I can't, he'll beat me and call me all kinds of foul names. _

_Or perhaps, he'll make me pour bleach in to the toilet, and force me to scrub it with my bare hands until they bleed! _She thought.

_Sounds silly? Maybe it is, but that was where her mind had taken her, to the edge of senselessness._

The monstrous noise, which came out of his mouth with such force, could only had come from hell itself, which is where he lived, his home, his comfort.

_Now is your chance! She thought. "Take it!" said a voice in her head._

She felt the urgency. Her legs burned with the desire to run fast, and unyielding; a rush of adrenalin shot throughout her body; a compelling desire that she had felt many times, but had only ignored.

However, Shelby had been afraid that if she left, he would have found her, and things would have become much worse; she thought that he would have killed her, for sure.

_No! I could not have taken that chance. I prayed that one day I would have the courage to run, or at least have an early death. As a matter of fact, if he had killed me, he would have done me a favor!_ She argued with herself.

"What are you looking at? I hope you have my breakfast ready," Eric said, as he woke with bug eyes, saliva sliding from the corners of his cracked and ashy, dried lips.

"Why don't you get up off your ass and get it yourself," she yelled, but only in her mind.

She really wished that she had had the courage to say those words to him out loud and suffer the consequences, or not. She managed to make her way to the kitchen.

Shelby grabbed a heavy cast iron skillet out of the cabinet; it weighed more than it ever had before. She labored to hold it, even with both hands.

She retrieved two eggs from the refrigerator, and set them down on the stove next to the skillet. After pouring in some oil, she then, waited for it to heat up. The wait seemed like an eternity.

But during that time, her mind wondered on to Phillip's sofa, the deep wanting kisses which seemed to take her breath away, sending warm feelings throughout her body; the feel of his hands as they navigated their way, knowing exactly where they wanted to be, and what they wanted to do.

However, her wandering fantasy had come to a screeching halt, when the sound of Joy's cry entered her mind. Luckily, the smell of smoking oil brought her back to reality.

One at a time, she cracked the eggs on the side of the black cast iron skillet, and each time, imagining Eric's head firmly against that pot, oozing with blood. The hot oil crackled and popped while the tears from her eyes seasoned the over easy eggs as they fried.

Shelby's egg cracking abilities were never refined. Often, tiny pieces of egg shells would end up in the frying pot. But surprisingly, Eric had never seemed to mind: Maybe because, he had always been in a rush to get out of the house. Or perhaps, his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of evil. So, you see, chewing on sandy eggshells may have put him in his comfort zone.

_Just a silly thought_!

Eric slumbered in, still with sleep in his eyes. He sat down to his breakfast, and immediately began to slush back his eggs, without so much as a thank you; he showed no gratitude what-so-ever. Not that Shelby had actually expected him to, but, it just would have been nice, that's all.

Wedged in the corner of the countertop, she stood quietly, slowly sipping on a hot cup of _Joe, _which she had sweetened with her favorite condensed milk. She watched him with contemptuous desires floating through her mind.

He scuffed the eggs down, while the yellow, gooey yolk squeezed out from the corners of his mouth.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, with a demeaning quality to his voice.

Something came over her! Perhaps, smashing his head, no, the eggs on the cast iron pot had given her a sense of empowerment. Or perhaps, she, just, have had enough.

"What am I looking at?" Shelby asked in a derogative manner.

She crashed the cup of coffee down on to the counter, nearly spilling the whole thing!

_Her cup had runneth over! _

Not stopping to think, or digress, she stood up tall and firm, looked directly into the whites of his eyes.

"I am looking at the devil himself! I am looking at the man who promised to love me, and take care of me. But instead, he treats me like crap! You make me sick! I hate you!" she said.

Her body, overwhelmed with emotion and fear, quivered uncontrollably.

Eric's eyes were as white as snow. He was in a state of shock, of disbelief of her behavior. He sat frozen in his chair, but at that moment, she did not care; she did not care about the repercussions.

All the anger, all the anxiety, and the pain had reached its tipping point. She no longer could keep them locked up.

_ The beast was destined to be free!_

_I wish that I had never laid eyes on you!_ She said, trembling with tears in her eyes_: I don't ask you for anything! All day long I clean your crap, iron your clothes, cook your food; everything I do is for you. What do you give me in return? You treat me like I'm your indentured slave; you put me down all the time, beat me; not a kind word, except your verbal abuses! I am sick of you! I hate you!_

Impulsive and driven without control of mind, or body, she lunged over to him, like a tiger wanting to secure its prey, grabbed the wet, half eaten egg, and rubbed it in his face!

_ Big mistake! _

"You crazy hag!" Eric yelled.

He grabbed her wrist and banged her hand on the table! Then, he grabbed her hair from the back of her head and rubbed her face in the plate with the messy eggs! As if that wasn't enough, still holding on to her hair, he pulled her over to the counter and continuously smashed the counter with her forehead!

W_hat did the counter ever do to him_?

But wait! That wasn't enough for him, so he then, let go of her hair, turned her around, grabbed her by the neck with one hand, and with the other, he repeatedly smacked her in the face; he played his favorite game, ping pong.

"I'm going to kill you!" "I'm going to kill you, you crazy drunken hag!" he kept yelling, as little pieces of egg and spit flew out of his frothy mouth, and on to her fiery-red face!

"Go ahead!" "It's only a matter of time anyway! Kill me like you killed our baby! There, I said it! You murdered our unborn child! Send me to be with my baby!" she yelled shaking and crying uncontrollably.

She could see the sudden pain of guilt in his eyes as he stared at her in silence.

His cellular phone rang persistently. So, he, finally, had decided to let go of her neck, so that he would be able to answer his phone.

"Jonas," he said, while panting like a dog that was trying to cool itself.

The expression on his face changed as he listened to the voice on the other end. The whites of his eyes changed from the look of madness, to the look of disbelief. His breathing, however, remained uncontrolled and heavy.

"How long ago?" I heard him ask. "How many?"

Trying to recover from what had just happened, she stood frozen with her hands supporting her body against the counter, still breathing heavily, trembling, crying; that phone call may have saved her life.

"OK Cap! I'll be there as soon as possible" he said.

"I'll deal with you later. I got to go to work" said Eric, with a wild maddened expression. At the same time, Shelby held the front of her neck, massaging it gently, trying to ease the pain.

He quickly walked away from the kitchen towards the bathroom, got dressed in blue jeans and a brown check shirt, grabbed his brown leather jacket, and walked out the door; she was glad to see the back of him as he rushed to answer his call of duty.

Thoughts and hopes of him getting shot, killed entered my her mind. But those thoughts were immediately followed by the guilt of thinking such a thing. An odd feeling came over her, one that she couldn't explain.

That was it! She knew that she had to leave. She had to at least try. Motivated by the anger and hate that burned her blood as they moved through her at that moment, Shelby quickly rushed to the bedroom, grabbed an old dusty black nylon suitcase, and immediately began to extract all of her clothes from the closet, and placed them in without a thought for neatness, or where she was going. The only thing she knew was that she had to go.

Shelby jammed as much as possible into that suitcase. Then, she grabbed another bag, and immediately began to remove her clothes from the draws and placed them in.

Looking at her from the bottom of a draw was a picture of Eric and her with carefree smiles on their faces, as they embraced.

The anger was beginning to subside, but she could not have allowed that moment of digression to get in her way of freedom. Shelby placed the picture back in its place, and continued to stuff the bag with clothes.

In my moment of madness, she realized that she was not fully clothed. That, she had nothing but a short sleep shirt on which reached only to the very top of her thighs. So, she had to search through her stuffed bags for something more reasonable to wear. She grabbed a pair of blue jeans, and a gray sweat shirt, threw on a pair of white sox, and white sneakers, and was ready to go.

Shelby grabbed her bags, a jacket, and proceeded to leave the apartment. But then, she realized that Eric would not have any idea what had happened to her. She placed the bags on the kitchen floor, and retrieved a pen, and a piece of paper from one of the draws:

"Dear Eric, I hate you! Don't bother looking for me. I'll mail you the divorce papers. Good Buy! Shelby."

She picked up her bags calmly, and walked out of the apartment, forgetting to lock the door behind her. She got with in a few feet of the elevator, and that brief moment of bravery ended abruptly.

A fear so intense rattled her nerves. She had been hit in the face by a sudden dose of reality, and sat her bags down, sat on the cold hard floor with her back against the wall, and began to continuously hit the wall with her fist, crying, and feeling disgusted. The anger had begun to build again. Except that, it was not directed at Eric this time; she was angry at herself and at the world. Shelby sat there for quite some time.

Mrs. Wilkins, her neighbor, who lived a few doors down, had returned from the market. She held several bags in her hands, very strong for a woman her age. She saw Shelby on the floor, crying helplessly.

"Don't fret my dear. It's all going to be alright. You'll see!" she said, as she bent over and placed her bags down. "Sometimes in life, bad things happen to us for good reasons! They help us to learn, and they make us stronger," she said, as she held Shelby's weeping face in her ageing hands. "Get up now, and go back to your apartment, back to your husband, and you find a way to make your life better, for only you can," she said, after noticing the stuffed bags that sat next to her on the floor.

Shelby was sure that Mrs. Wilkins had heard more than she should have from Eric and her. She was sure that most of her neighbors had heard more than enough; they all knew what was going on between them.

Shelby knew that she was right. Besides, she had no where to go, no fall-back plan. If she was going to leave, she had to plan for it better, and make it more realistic. After all, she did not want to suffer more than she already had.

Reluctantly, after Mrs. Wilkins had entered her apartment, Shelby picked up her bags, _put her tail between her legs_, and went back to her hellish life, back to Eric.

She dragged herself with the bags to her bedroom, and placed them on the floor next to the bed.

Feeling foolish, Shelby sat on the edge of her bed; the tears began to roll.

"What am I doing?" she asked. "where was I going to go?" Kat? She thought. Yes, maybe I can go to Kat!

But then, the thought of how humiliated she would feel, especially since Kat had warned her about Eric. There was no way that she would have been able to face her. No. Shelby had to do it. On her own. _But how?_

She had no money, no job, no resources, no college education; she had nothing. Had she left that day, she would have surely been homeless, left to wander the streets aimlessly with her hands outstretched, begging with bags that were overflowing with clothes.

Shelby sat paralyzed with uncertainty, and did not know what to do. She felt defeated, and felt like a failure. She threw herself back on to her bed, and cried herself to sleep.

**S****IXTY-****T****HREE**

**I**t had been several weeks sinceShelby crossed paths with Phillip. She called it, "_My day of shame_." But every now an then, she had flashbacks of him loving her, and how good he made her feel.

The memory of his touch and smell sometimes overwhelmed her so, that, she wasn't sure, that had he approached again, if she would have been strong enough to refuse him. He had this power over her; and, she did not know why.

Sometimes, she had this unnerving feeling that he was close to her, as if she would be able to touch him. There were times when she really felt as though he had been watching her, following her every move.

Shelby had decided not to go to the park for awhile, for fear that she may have ran into Phillip, or worst, his wife.

She was having another day of boredom and fatigue. It was getting nippy outside, but she wanted to breathe the fresh air, even if it was just for a few minutes. So, she decided to venture outside, but just on her block.

She slipped on her fleece jacket and went out. The air was cool, but the sun was bright and warming. With her arms folded, trying to keep the warmth of her own body, she walked slowly, nonchalantly, in the opposite location away from the park. She was afraid that she may have ended up there.

As she walked, her mind brought her back to Eric when he came home distraught just a few days before about the death of Tommy. She had never seen him that way before; it was like he had been on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. It was frightening to her, _to say the least_.

Her emotions were twisted, not knowing whether to hate, or to love. However, Shelby wondered if it was possible to do both.

_Let's face it, she was totally screwed up._

The warmth of the sun was beginning to be dowsed by the thick clouds; the cold was beginning to pierce her bones. She was no longer walking slowly. Instead, Shelby found her-self rushing to get back into her apartment, where she could make herself a cup of hot coffee.

She didn't wait for the elevator. Instead, she climbed the stairs quickly. It made her feel invigorated; the cold air had done some good after all.

Shelby fumbled for her keys, and when she found them, she entered the apartment, and quickly stripped herself of the thick fleece jacket, and then placed it on the back of a chair.

It had not taken long for the warmth to return to her body. Not wasting another minute, she grabbed the large canister of coffee grounds, as well as a filter, placed it in the machine, and began to scoop the dark, soul satisfying grounds into it.

It was then she heard a loud clank coming from the back of the apartment, possibly the bedroom.

"Eric! Is that you?" she asked loudly.

Shelby thought that maybe Eric had returned home earlier than usual. It would not have surprised her though, since he had not been well.

When she did not hear a response, Shelby suddenly felt a cold sensation travel throughout her body.

_Maybe something had just fallen._ She thought.

Slowly and cautiously she began to make her way towards the bedroom, and half way there she saw Phillip rushing towards her! His eyes were red with madness. She screamed and tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late. He grabbed her from behind!

"_Shh!" _he said quietly, with his right hand pressed over her mouth. "It's ok! I'm not going to hurt you. I missed you so much. I just wanted to see you."

Frozen with fear, she didn't know what to do.

After a few minutes, when he thought that she was calm enough, he released his hand slowly.

"Phillip, why are you in my apartment?" she asked, as she turned around reluctantly to face him. "Phillip, you have to leave right now! My husband, who's a detective, could walk in at any minute now!"

Shelby could hear the coffee beginning to gurgle.

"Shelby, I visited the park everyday, hoping to see you!" he said, with an intense look in his deep brown eyes.

He looked like he had been possessed by something, or someone.

"Shelby, since that day, when we made love, I've been thinking about you! I can't get you out of my mind!"

"Phillip, you have to go," she cried softly. "Eric is going to be home anytime now! Please!"

However, nothing she said, or did could persuade him to leave. She began to feel even more panicked. He grabbed her by the waist and began to kiss her savagely. Shelby tried her best to fight him off, but he had been too strong for her.

He picked her up, squeezing her body as if trying to exude life from her, and carried her over to the green sofa, where he wrestled her down, trying desperately to force himself into me.

"I love you so much Shelby," he cried. "I just want to be with you."

Feeling her-self beginning to weaken, she forcefully jammed her knee into his manhood, forcing him to protect himself from further assault.

Once she got her footing off the sofa, she kicked him in the head, and ran towards the entry door, opened it and ran out screaming!

Just as she ran out to the hallway, her neighbor, Mr. Sheppard had been returning from wherever he was; she nearly knocked him down. At that moment, Phillip darted out of the apartment, looked at her with crazed eyes, looked at Mr. Sheppard, and then let out a mocking laughter, "Don't you know I can have whatever I want," he said before he opened the stairwell door, and then disappeared.

"Mrs. Jonas, are you alright?" asked Mr. Sheppard nervously. "We should call the police!" he suggested.

"No! That's alright," she said, barely catching her breath. "Eric will be home soon. He will take care of it," she said, trying not to let on that she knew her attacker.

After Shelby was surethat Phillip had left, she went back into her apartment, locked the door, and sat at her kitchen table. She sat there shaking, crying, thinking of how stupid she had been, how naive she was to think that Phillip was a good man.

_Why did I bring more trouble on myself?_ She thought.

She knew that there was no way in hell that she could have told Eric what happened to her. It would have made things worst. No! This was something that she was just going to put behind her, lock away in her closet of secrets. However, she was worried that Mr. Sheppard would say something to Eric; she had no control over that.

Shelby spent hours cleaning, trying to erase any evidence of a struggle, or that someone else had been in the apartment. As she straightened the sofa, fluffing the pillows, running her hands over the cushions to make them smoother, she couldn't get Phillip out of her mind.

She heard his voice, smelled the scent of sandalwood and spice, and saw his deep brown eyes, which had looked crazed and possessed, and felt his powerful arms holding her down, while he forced himself on her. The tears began to flow uncontrollably. But she could not allow herself to give in to her own weakness.

_**You reap what you sow**_.

Every little noise that she heard made her stomach weak, and her body tremble. Shelby worried that Phillip might return, and was afraid that the next time, he would kill her. She was afraid that she would spend the rest of her life living in fear of Eric, and now Phillip.

The walls had begun to close in on her. She feared for her own sanity. She felt so alone, and so vulnerable, and decided that she would call Kat. They had not spoken for several weeks. In fact, the last time they spoke was the morning of her miscarriage.

Shelby dialed Kat's number, but immediately got cold feet.

_What was I going to tell her? She thought. That I had an affair with a crazy man? That Eric turned out to be crazy after all? _

She knew exactly what Kat would have said. She would have said, "You were always drawn to wild mad men!" And she would be right.

Finally, Shelby worked up the nerve to complete the call.

After a few rings, "Blue Advertising! Kathryn McCall speaking!"

"Hey Kat! It's me Shel!"

"Shel?"

"Yes. It's me."

"Something must be wrong, because I can't believe that I am hearing your voice!"

"I'm sorry that I haven't called much."

"You really sound like something is wrong! What's going on? Is bear-man acting like an animal?"

"No! Not at all!"

"Then what's wrong? I know that you didn't just call me so that you can hear my voice!"

"Well you're wrong! That is exactly why I called! Just to hear your voice! Is there something wrong with that? A woman calling her best friend just to say hi?"

Shelby could feel herself beginning to lose control.

"Honey, I'm sorry," said Kat, with a tinge of guilt in her voice.

"Well, I forgive you." "Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. I'll let you get back to work; I know that you are busy." She hung up the phone.

Shelby just couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to tell Kat about the mess she was in. Most of the day, she spent looking out the windows to see if Phillip had returned, and pacing back and forth, checking the lock on the front door. For the first time in a long time, she wished for Eric to come home early.

Later on that evening Shelby had decided to turn on her television, trying to do anything that would distract her from all the craziness which had been stirring in her mind.

Curled up on a chair in the corner, feeling as if she was going crazy, in bold red letters, "Breaking News" flashes on the screen. And then, a young news woman announced:

_We have just learned that the leader of the cult who call themselves the 'Kenites' was killed in a police shoot-out just hours ago! A man identified…._

At that moment, Phillip's face was plastered all over the screen! She was mortified! Shelby placed her hands over her face! She couldn't bring herself to face the truth; she couldn't bring herself to look at him!

_Phillip Longhorn (AKA: Cain) has alluded police for almost two years! He and his cult of more than two hundred members are responsible for the killings, dubbed the "The harvest is at hand" of over fifty innocent victims! Said the announcer. _

Shelby couldn't listen anymore! So, she turned off the television. "Oh my god!" she cried. "Oh my god!"

She couldn't believe that she had been so close to evil; maybe the devil himself! However, in a strange way, she felt relieved, because at least, she knew that he would not be able to hurt her any longer.

_**The question was, is, however, can the devil be killed?**_

But, it didn't end there.

Devin Miller knew that Eric would come to take him away. _Why?_ It was shown to him. The images and thoughts which were not his own had entered his mind. He knew before hand that he would be the one to kill Eric with one strike of a bullet through his head. Except that, Eric had Good on his side, and the bullet had failed to produce the kill.

What it did produce, however, was the door to the truth. Eric saw the truth through his dreams, while he lay in his hospital bed, and he saw the face of Cain, and knew that he was the enemy, the evil which had been with him and in him from childhood till now, and he knew that the battle would be great.

But, for now, in the end, justice was served, and Louisa Westgate was carted off to jail to wait out her time until the day of her impending death sentence.

Was it the end? Really?

**S****IXTY-****F****OUR**

"_**A**__h_!" No, no, no…" yelled Eric. "Get out of my head. You bastard. Get out…." He saw his face, his eyes, heard his voice telling him to kill them: kill Shelby and Flora, shoot them dead while they sleep, and then, turn the gun on himself. Cain showed him the entanglement of he and Shelby lustfully embraced as they made love.

"You bastard," Eric yelled as the anger surged through him. "I will kill you. I will kill you."

The tears began to flow freely, as his body trembled with a cold sweat in the middle of summer.

"Get out of my way, you idiot," Eric yelled out to a taxi driver, who had been driving a yellow cab.

He beeped his way through the streets of Brooklyn, in a mad rush home to confront Shelby with what he believed to be true.

But was it true? He wondered. Did Shelby sleep with the devil?

His heart raced with anger. And all the pain of the past struck him like the edge of a sharp sword, bleeding him of the satisfaction he felt after Louisa Westgate had been sentenced to death; bleeding him of the satisfaction in knowing that he had to walk through the fires of life to bring himself to a place where he could seek justice and goodness for the wronged and helpless. And now, it was all hanging off a cliff.

"Kill them," he said. "Shoot them while they sleep."

Eric sat in his parked car in front of his apartment. He held his head and beat his forehead, trying to drive out the voice, trying to drive out the images of Shelby with Cain. However, it was useless. The devil had a hold on him at that moment.

Eric opened the door to the glove compartment of his yellow Corvette, the one that he had since he was young, the one that he used to pick Shelby up for their first date, the beginning of their life together.

He removed the service revolver that he had been allowed to keep from his days as a detective. He had always kept it loaded.

"Kill them. Kill them."

He grabbed his briefcase and placed the gun on the pile of files related to the Westgate case, closed it, and exited the car.

"Kill them. Kill them."

Eric didn't bother to take the stairs. He, instead, climbed the three flights up. His head was numb, like there was nothing there except the voice and images.

"Kill them. Kill them."

He fumbled for the keys in his pant pocket, and placed one in the door, and as he made his way in, he heard tiny little feet, and a tiny little voice rushing towards him.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Flora rushed into his arms, such power for a little girl, almost knocking him off his feet. Not far behind Flora was Shelby with a welcoming smile that spread from one ear to the next.

And then, he realized that the devil had once again tried to hurt him and his family. He tried to take away what was good in his life. And worst of all, he tried to claim his soul.

"Hi Honey," she said, as she kissed him gently on the lips.

And he knew that he could never bring harm to his wife again, because their love was strong; his love for his family and for God was stronger than any temptation to take the life of his family and himself.

The voice had disappeared, and so did the images and the face of his nemesis. Cain lost again, but, what he did succeed at was, to strengthen Eric's resolve to hunt him down and kill him.

"Shelby, I'll be right back."

"Hon, where are you going? Is everything alright?"

"Yes Shel. I just need a little air," Eric said as he slid out of the front door, closing it behind him.

He stood quietly, just for a few moments, rubbing his head, thinking how, just moments ago he was considering kill his family and himself.

The rage began to build like water rushing into an empty pit. He rushed outside to the cool night air, breathing it deeply.

"Cain! Cain! Where are you? You bastard! I swear, even if it means my death, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you! You hear me! Kill you!" Eric yelled softly, as he paced back and forth, tensing every muscle in his body, with Shelby peering at him from a window. If she only had a clue, that if her husband had not been strong of mind and of will, that she and her Flora would be dead, and so would he, all victims of evil.

_Now, the hunter had become the prey._

**P****ART ****F****IVE**

**M****ARCH 15, 2011-****T****HE ****P****RESEN****T**

**S****IXTY-****F****IVE**

**T****SUNAMI ****S****TORM**

**T**he world was drifting into darkness. The mother of hope no longer heard the cries of a desperate people for she too had given way to darkness. Everything as it had been known to be was drowning in the sea of fear and gloom.

The stock market crashed. And as the months passed, more and more people had lost their homes due to foreclosures.

People had lost their jobs; they lost their livelihoods. Banks were at the risk of falling, but then, they were saved by the average man, whom had nothing left but anger and hate for the evils of the world. However, the coffers were increased, and the men of the conglomerate were well pleased.

Oil was being produced at record rates, until they ran a ground, and liquid gold had spread throughout the oceans, killing God's creatures, stealing the livelihoods of those who fished in the sea, and polluting the air for decades to come.

Diseases spread across the land―bird flu, swine flu, and others―killing the innocent and the derelict.

Earthquakes, wild fire storms, and tornadoes plagued the land. Scientist and religious leaders scrambled for reasons and answers, but none were found.

It was the fifteenth of March, the day of Louisa Westgate's execution by lethal injection. It was the day that Eric should have seen retribution carried out for the slain and the misused. However, that was not to be.

"Hurry! We must meet them! We must drive towards the rising sun!"Eric said with elevated voice as fear pumped wildly through his veins.

The wind began to surge violently, stirring the gray clouds across the sky. Debris―the siding of homes, trash, limbs of trees―flew in the air as Eric tried to traverse his way towards the east, towards the sun, where he was to meet Seraph and the warriors of Light.

"Daddy, I'm scared!" cried Flora.

"Don't worry sweetheart. Everything will be all right," Eric said, knowing fully well that everything was not all right.

Shelby looked at Eric intensely with tears in her eyes and trembling lips. She, too, knew that everything was not all right. She placed a trembling hand on Eric's shoulder and said softly, "I love you."

Eric tried to be strong: He tried to steady his heart, but he was overcome with emotions, as tears rolled down his face.

A piece of debris slammed the side of the red Ford truck.

"_Aah_, Daddy!" screamed Flora.

"It's all right Baby! It's ok," said Eric.

He turned on the truck radio, hoping to find something soothing to calm Flora, but instead, all they heard was static.

Eric continued towards the east as quickly as possible, driving on side roads, curve embankments, wherever his truck could take him. And through the brilliant light of the sun, off in the distant horizon, he saw what seemed like an army of horses; he saw on them, human forms which glittered in gold and silver.

"Ha, Ha," laughing out loudly while he pressed harder on the gas peddle and jerked on the steering wheel. "Shelby, they're here! They're here Shelby! I can see them!" he yelled with a sense of satisfaction, that it all had not been some crazy dream which he could never wake from, and more importantly, that, he was not crazy.

"Where? See what Eric?"

Shelby tried hard to see what Eric thought he had seen, but she saw only chaos and fear.

There was panic in the streets. Many vehicles had attempted to turn around. People got out of their vehicles to make an attempt to run. However, there was no where to run to; it had already been too late.

There was a surge of Atlantic waves moving towards them. The ocean had lifted its-self up like the Great Wall of China. And, like an avalanche, moving swiftly with unyielding vengeance, crashed down with torrid anger, fiercely threatening to take all life within its reach:

_It came without a warning, strong and fierce, driven by evil and a venomous pierce. Not once, but twice, and twice again, did it reach, with out-stretched arms to fold the souls of the innocent to a bottomless sea where life is black and cold and void of joy or wonder. Not once, but twice, and twice again did it reach to suck the life from them all, and twist the jagged knife of suffering till their hearts were ripped to pieces. And they were left to wonder why._

Eric tried to reverse his truck, but instead, he got caught up in the mangle of vehicles which had blocked the way.

"No, No!" yelled Eric, slamming his hands on the steering wheel

of his truck. "This is not right! It doesn't make sense."

"Eric!" cried Shelby, as she leaned to the side, grabbed his hands.

There was nothing he could do. "I love you Baby," he said softly as the waves plummeted their vehicle and every other vehicle around them, entering the truck, and drowning Flora and Shelby.

**1200 BC**

**T****HE ****C****ITY OF N****O****K**

**T**he room had walls of roughly chiseled stone, large and antiquated. There were large openings within it― windows to a world filled with turmoil and uncertainty.

The wind blew dry and hot through the soft, white, cotton sheers, causing them to lift and sway in every direction. On the cold, stone floors were tall iron post with large, white candles lit upon them.

Eric lay still upon a large wooden bed ballooned with pillows of wool and sheets of silk. He opened his eyes, and through a veiled cloud, he saw in front of him a woman.

There she was, brighter than the sun. Her hair was silvery white and woolen, almost reaching to the lower part of her long thighs as she stood tall and scintillating.

She wore a long, whiter than white gown, which reflected the flicker of diamonds as it waved around her white, glittering shoes.

Her beauty could only be outdone by her fierce abhorrence for evil.

"Where am I?" asked Eric in a slow painful voice.

And then, as if struck by a jolt of lightning, Eric sprung upright and looked around the cold stone room.

"Shelby, Flora, where are they?"

"Do not concern your-self my child, for they are in paradise," Ashana said, as she sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed a hand on Eric's head.

He saw a vision of Shelby and Flora playing, running happily in a garden lushly filled with glorious, endless beauty. And, in the distance, there was the sea, calm and shimmering blues and greens with the light of the sun reflecting from it, under the blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbow dancing to the rhythm of the sea through, and birds of many feathers singing gloriously and uninhibited. They were truly in paradise.

Eric felt a peace envelop his being, and took comfort in that his daughter and wife were safely at peace and far away from evil. And then, the darkness took him. But, when he wakes, he will come to the reality that he is no longer in Brooklyn, in the year 2011. But, rather, that he is in the land of the Noks, 1200 BC where it all began.


End file.
